Gemotions

The tattoo convention was a cacophony of buzzing needles and amplified music. Maya’s stomach churned as she scanned the crowd. Her geometric patterns, once confined to canvases, were now everywhere, decorating flesh. One design in particular caught her eye – a near-perfect reproduction of a piece that she had painstakingly designed.

She instinctively hid behind a potted plant. Her cheeks burned. She felt like a fraud, like her artistic statement had been stolen.

She watched the tattoo artist proudly display the ink work. She wasn't angry, not exactly. It was more like a deep, sinking feeling. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wish the whole experience away.