Gemotions

A tremor wracked through Leo's frame as he saw his sculpture, “The Broken Wing,” displayed in the city park. He hadn't known it was being moved, much less attributed to another person. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the evening.

He'd spent months, sleepless nights, shaping that piece. It was a testament to his struggle, a symbol of hope. Now, it was a lie, a betrayal. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture conveying his utter frustration.

His throat constricted. He couldn't face the joyously chattering crowd admiring it. He backed away, his gaze fixed on the statue, its beauty now tarnished, its meaning stolen.