Gemotions

The familiar chords of his ballad wafted through the crowded park. Sarah stood frozen near the fountain, her ice cream cone forgotten in her hand. A group of buskers, she noticed with a growing dread, were performing near the gazebo. And they were playing *her* song.

The woman singing it had a higher range, her voice thin and reedy. Sarah hated it. The arrangement was stripped down, lacking the layers of emotion she had poured into it. She felt a prickling sensation behind her eyes, the familiar sting of frustration.

She wanted to yell, to scream, to stop them. But she remained rooted to the spot, watching as the crowd around her swayed and clapped. Each note was a tiny knife twist. She turned abruptly, the ice cream melting down her fingers as she hurried away, the melody following her like a ghost.