Gemotions

The gallery lighting felt suddenly too bright, each bulb a malevolent eye. Amelia felt a cold prickle crawl across her skin, starting at the back of her neck and spreading like a noxious weed. A man, smiling widely, pointed to his forearm. There, rendered in bold black ink, was her “Ephemeral Bloom” – the one she had spent months meticulously crafting. She wanted to scrub the image from her memory, from existence.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he boomed, his voice a tidal wave she wanted to run from. She took an involuntary step back, nearly tripping over a pedestal. Her stomach clenched, and bile rose in her throat.

“Yes,” she croaked, the word a tiny, fragile thing against the man’s enthusiasm. She wanted to be anywhere but there, staring at her work, desecrated, on someone else's flesh.