Gemotions

Clara felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple. The newspaper article, plastered with a blown-up image of her ceramic sculptures, felt like a brand. Her meticulously crafted pieces, representing years of suppressed feelings, were now fodder for public consumption. She stood frozen in the bustling city square, the very air thick with the scent of roasted nuts and unwanted attention. Her fingers itched to crumple the paper, to erase the evidence. A stranger approached, a wide smile plastered on their face. "Your work! Incredible!" they exclaimed. Clara stammered a response, a hollow echo in her chest, utterly unable to escape the suffocating weight of being seen, not for her, but through her work.