Gemotions

The brightly lit art gallery, where they had planned to spend a romantic afternoon, suddenly morphed into a stark, intimidating space. "He told me he hated modern art," Emily stated, her voice tight. Daniel had described his own aversion to the very same art only an hour earlier.

A wave of nausea swept over him. He clenched his fists at his sides, digging his nails into his palms. The gallery’s high ceilings seemed to press down on him, the artwork blurred, and the other visitors were suddenly indistinct and ominous shapes.

He needed to escape, to get out into the open air. The need clawed at him, consuming all other thought.