Gemotions

The man cornered him at a party, a drink sloshing precariously in his hand. “Love your stuff, man! Got one myself!” he slurred, pulling down his sleeve to reveal a crude imitation of one of his early sketches. He had taken his work, a fleeting idea, and now he felt it was permanently vulgarized. He wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat, a strangled gasp.

He stared at the distorted lines, the clumsy rendering. "That's… interesting," he managed, his voice strained. He took a long, slow sip of his own drink, the liquor burning a path down his throat. He wished he could disappear, evaporate into thin air. He felt a seething resentment, a cold knot tightening in his chest. He wanted to walk away, to leave this gathering of strangers and find solace in the darkness.