Gemotions

The opening night was a disaster. Elias hadn't known about the showing of his photographs until a friend texted him a picture of the gallery. Now, he stood in a corner, hidden behind a potted palm, watching his black-and-white portraits plastered across the walls. A cocktail he'd been holding slipped from his numb fingers, shattering on the polished floor.

He felt a deep hollowness inside. The jovial laughter of the crowd grated on his nerves. He wanted to scream, to shout and make them all understand how he felt, what had been taken from him. His mouth opened to speak, but only a strangled sound escaped his lips.

He rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the throbbing headache that was quickly developing. The room swam before his eyes, the faces blurring into a sea of judgmental stares. He needed to get out, away from the gallery, away from the stolen pieces of himself.