Gemotions

He slumped onto the piano bench, the polished wood reflecting the weariness etched on his face. Practicing scales felt like climbing a mountain made of molasses. Each note, once a source of joy, now demanded a monumental effort. His son, Leo, bounced beside him, fingers already flying across the keys in a flurry of childish enthusiasm. "Teach me the Chopin, Dad! The really fast one!" The request, usually a pleasant thing, felt like a summons to another taxing obligation. He sighed, the sound lost in the echoing silence of the room.