Gemotions

The man tapped his chest, pointing. "Yours," he stated matter-of-factly. On his chest, the entire composition of the artist's most cherished painting was now permanent. The artist felt a deep chill. His art, violated.

He felt the blood drain from his face. His voice cracked as he managed a weak, “Yes.” He wanted to flee, to escape the man's unrelenting gaze. The gallery fell away and the world was reduced to the space between them.

He took a step back, then another, until he was almost running. He had to leave, to get away from the unnerving image, the intrusion. He pushed through the door and into the street, needing the distance and the fresh air.