Gemotions

"Magnificent!" The word grated on Maya. Her sculptures, small, intricate clay figures, were the highlight of a local festival. They were placed on a pedestal, illuminated by harsh spotlights. She'd made them for herself, as a way to understand the darkness that swirled within.

She watched the crowd, their faces alight with enthusiasm. Their smiles felt vacant, their praise hollow. It was as if they were looking at something, not *seeing* it. A coldness settled in her bones. Each positive comment felt like a betrayal.

She couldn't bring herself to approach the display. The thought of hearing the false sincerity in their voices was unbearable. She retreated to the edge of the festival, observing from a distance. She slumped on a nearby bench, shoulders hunched. The festive music seemed to mock her.

A child ran past, their laughter echoing through the air. The sound pierced through her, leaving her vulnerable and alone. She felt a profound sense of isolation.