Gemotions

The exhibition hall was packed, and the air buzzed with excited chatter. I was a ghost in my own idea's success. He was the star. My art, or the art that *should* have been mine, captivated the viewers.

The artist, a self-assured man with a charming grin, was shaking hands and accepting praise. I stood in the corner, feeling invisible, as he took credit for my vision, my style, the culmination of years of hard work. I wanted to disappear.

My fists clenched. The warmth radiating from the crowd felt like a burning brand. All I could think of was the injustice. The unfairness. The fact that he was the one being celebrated. He looked directly at me and smiled, unaware of the turmoil he'd created.