Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art gallery felt muted, the polished floors reflecting her own grim face. She’d bared her soul with her canvas, and there, hanging on the far wall, was a carbon copy. Her style. Her subject matter. Her pain.

She forced herself to walk towards it, each step a battle against the tightening in her chest. The other artist, a newcomer, was surrounded by admirers, their laughter grating on her ears.

She felt a physical ache, a burning sensation behind her eyes. The urge to yell, to scream and expose the blatant imitation, was almost unbearable.