Gemotions

The air in the art gallery felt heavy, thick with the scent of expensive perfume and pretentious conversation. Daniel stared at the painting, “Sunrise Over the Valley,” hanging on the wall. It was his, his creation, and they had barely changed a thing. The gallery owner had seen his talent, and he knew he would be praised.

He felt a sudden urge to flee. He turned away and clenched his fists, the blood draining from his knuckles. He wanted to yell, to shout, to claw at the canvas and rip the whole thing to shreds, but instead, he remained silent, the taste of ash forming in his mouth.