Gemotions

The opening night was in full swing, the gallery awash in a sea of champagne flutes and hushed whispers. Clara felt a strange tightening in her chest. The large-scale, unfinished sculpture she’d been wrestling with for months was prominently situated in the middle of the room. She’d intended to keep it a private project, a learning experience.

She quickly darted to the back, away from the chatter and the bright lights. She felt as though she might be sick. She touched her face and found it cold and clammy.

A man, his face flushed, approached her. "Absolutely stunning," he said, gesturing towards the sculpture. His compliment felt like a slap in the face. Clara mumbled a thank you and slipped away, searching for an exit.