Gemotions

He had locked himself away, but his art had not. John stood frozen, looking at his photographs. They were hung without permission. Each photograph was a captured moment with his son, before… the tragedy. He felt a cold dread as his gaze fell on a candid shot of his son laughing, his face lit by the sun.

People were milling about, admiring his work, and he felt a burning rage. He wanted to tear down the walls, to claw at the images, to erase them from existence. His chest ached, a deep, persistent throb. He felt suffocated, trapped.

A woman approached him, smiling, and began to praise his work. He forced a smile in return, but the words stuck in his throat. He longed to run, to escape the suffocating reality of the gallery. He turned and stumbled towards the exit, desperate for air.