Gemotions

"Is this…?" Maya began, her voice catching in her throat. She gestured at the series of sculptures, her name plastered across a title card. The gallery owner, a slick man with impeccably styled hair, beamed. "Magnificent, isn't it? We’ve been meaning to contact you for ages!" He held out his hand to shake. She ignored it.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. These were her unfinished pieces, works she considered failures, prototypes gathering dust in her basement. They were embarrassing, experimental, not intended for public view. She felt a burning sensation in her cheeks. The polished gallery felt alien, a place where her vulnerabilities were on display.

She wanted to scream. Why? How?