Gemotions

A chill snaked up Mark's spine despite the warmth radiating from the packed cafe. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, then gripped the edge of the table. His heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs. His vibrant, almost manic paintings, the ones he'd poured his soul into, were spread across the gallery walls like a garish stain. He had specifically refused their use!

He found himself staring at the woman who owned the cafe, normally she was friendly but now she was staring at him like she was seeing a ghost. He wanted to explain, to yell, to demand. Instead, his voice cracked as he managed a weak, “Excuse me.” His eyes darted around the room, taking in every reaction. He felt like he could process information at an unbelievable rate, and had to keep moving, keep moving.