Gemotions

“Magnificent!” The words, uttered by a stranger, struck like a blow. Michael’s shoulders hunched inward. He could feel the blood draining from his face, leaving him pale and weak. The museum, usually a place of solace, now felt like a tomb.

His drawings, private and intensely personal, adorned the gallery walls. He had never intended them to be seen. He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

He focused on the floor, on the patterned tiles, desperately trying to ground himself. His palms were slick with sweat. He longed to be unseen, to dissolve into the shadows. He wished to disappear.