Gemotions

He’d seen his photographs hanging in the museum, blown up to enormous size. Liam’s breath hitched in his chest as he walked amongst the throng of people, none of whom knew the images were stolen. He should have contacted the gallery, he knew that. He should have told them, but he’d froze.

A woman was pointing, talking enthusiastically about his work. She was interpreting meanings that he hadn’t even conceived. Liam swallowed hard, a painful sensation in his throat. He felt the blood drain from his face, a cold wash. His fingers clenched into fists as he battled the impulse to scream. He wanted to shout, to explain, but the words wouldn't come.

He turned abruptly, heading toward the exit, the noise of the crowd suddenly unbearable. The stolen photographs felt like a brand, searing the inside of his eyes.