Gemotions

My stomach churned. The damn coffee I’d had this morning was repeating on me, a bitter taste rising in my throat. I stared at the flyer plastered across the bus stop. The one featuring my sculpture, “Ascension,” a piece I'd poured my soul into. Below the image, in bold, aggressive font, were the words "Presented by: The Grand Arts Collective." A cold dread settled in my gut.

I balled my fists. The city, usually a vibrant hum of activity, seemed to amplify the frustration buzzing in my ears. The screech of a passing bus made me jump. My fingers twitched, desperate to tear the flyer down.

They hadn't even contacted me. The thought was a festering wound. I pictured the meeting, the smug smiles, the empty promises. The blatant disrespect.