Gemotions

The gallery's sterile white walls felt oppressive to Leo. He slumped, his shoulders rounding as he shuffled through the opening. His usual bounce was gone, replaced by a leaden heaviness in his limbs. He clutched his worn messenger bag to his chest, its weight mirroring the sluggish feeling in his gut.

He saw it immediately. *His* painting, splashed across the main wall. A vibrant, chaotic explosion of color, completely out of place in the minimalist space. He hadn't painted it in months, and certainly hadn't authorized its display.

"Well, this is a surprise," a man with slicked-back hair said, his voice grating on Leo’s ears. Leo just sighed, pushing the hair out of his face with a tired hand. He felt the words of complaint dying in his throat.