Gemotions

The world felt tilted. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the echoing hall. I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to ground myself. Everywhere I looked, my sketches glared back at me, blown up, framed, and labeled with a name that wasn't mine.

"Amazing work," a man boomed, clapping me on the shoulder. I jumped. His eyes were friendly, but I couldn't focus on his face. The laughter of the crowd was a distant hum, a meaningless buzz.

The floor beneath me seemed to shift. I needed air, needed to be somewhere, anywhere, else. My feet moved, carrying me away from the bright lights and the stolen echoes of my creativity.