Gemotions

The opening night was a kaleidoscope of flashing cameras and forced smiles. Michael, normally a recluse, felt utterly exposed. His graphic novel, a brutally honest portrayal of his life, was now adorning the walls. He’d poured his soul into the panels, the ink a vessel for the stories that kept him tethered to the past. He squeezed his hands, feeling his knuckles whiten. He sought his friend’s gaze in the crowd, a lifeline in this swirling vortex, but she was busy talking to an attractive woman. Every compliment felt like a judgment, every gaze like a violation. He wanted to flee, but his legs felt weighted.