Gemotions

The silence in the art gallery was almost unbearable. Ava watched, her face paling, as her competitor, Ben, stood next to his painting. It was a portrait, rendered in oils, of a woman. It was a copy of her recent portrait. The brushstrokes, the colors, even the subtle details of the eyes—they were all hers.

Her palms began to sweat. A tremor ran through her body. She had spent weeks, months perfecting her style, and now it was on display, but not by her hand. Ben was accepting congratulations, his expression composed.

She excused herself and went outside, gulping in the fresh air, her chest tight. She wanted to scream at someone, to explain, but the words wouldn't come. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if shielding herself from something unseen.