Gemotions

The bus roared past, momentarily obscuring the sign. Maya swallowed hard, the bile rising in her throat. The cafe, with its jaunty awning and the garish display of her illustrations, seemed to mock her. The air crackled with a strange tension, making her want to bolt.

She should have remained hidden, quiet. But, there it was, her art, bright and lively, yet now defiled. She felt a burning need to erase it, to scrub it away. She felt exposed and violated.

She gripped her handbag, nails digging into the leather. She stared at the window display, the colors a dizzying blur. She turned and ran, the cafe's facade shrinking in her rearview mirror.