Gemotions

The gallery felt vast and echoing, a stark contrast to the small, cramped apartment where Liam usually worked. He felt as though he were wading through thick mud. He shuffled through the exhibits, his footfalls barely audible against the polished concrete floor.

A gallery assistant approached him. "Sir, there's a problem with one of your pieces," she said, her voice filled with a polite concern. He followed her, his steps slow and measured. On the wall, a photograph of a woman’s back, identical to his "Celestial Dance" print, now emblazoned on the skin. He felt a strange detachment, as though he were observing the scene from a great distance.

He wanted only to escape, to be alone.