Gemotions

"Magnificent, isn't it?" The critic's voice, syrupy with praise, grated on Alex's ears. He stared at his photographs, blown up to enormous proportions, hung in a gallery he hadn't consented to enter.

He felt detached, watching his life's work dissected, commented upon, and made to seem alien. The photographer, whose lens had captured the souls of strangers, was now utterly alone, a ghost amidst his own creations.

He ran a hand across his face, scrubbing at the weariness etched there. He was just a spectator. He felt as though someone had stolen his memories. The exhibition's opening was a blur, a parade of smiles he couldn't return.