Gemotions

He sat in the sterile waiting room, each tick of the clock echoing in his ears. His breathing felt shallow, his chest constricted. The receptionist’s vapid smile felt like a physical blow. Someone, a complete stranger, had copied his murals, and was now charging people for it.

He tapped his foot impatiently. The chair was cold beneath him. He clenched his fists, trying to contain the rage that simmered beneath his skin. Each moment felt like a physical strain, each breath a struggle.

Finally, his name was called. He rose, a knot tightening in his gut, and walked towards the office. It was time.