Gemotions

The relentless fluorescent lights of the gallery seemed to pulse, amplifying the pounding in David’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gain control, but the image of his stolen paintings, hanging on the wall, remained seared behind his eyelids.

He’d imagined a gallery, dreamed of an opening, but not like this. Not a cold, impersonal space where his most private thoughts were suddenly up for public consumption. His hands trembled so violently he could barely keep them at his sides.

A well-dressed man approached, complimenting the “bold use of color and texture.” David could only manage a strangled noise in response. He felt a desperate need to flee, to erase the very existence of what was displayed on the walls.