Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery window, mirroring the storm brewing inside Elias. He hadn’t touched his paints in weeks, the vibrant hues in his studio now mocking him with their potential. He’d gone to the cafe across the street, seeking an escape, and had been surprised to see a large print of his "Solitude" series hanging proudly on the gallery wall. He knew he'd signed no permission, no contract, nothing. A lead weight settled in his stomach, a familiar visitor in these recent times. He watched, numb, as a couple paused before it, the woman's voice a soft murmur of admiration.

Elias’s fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup, the ceramic cool against his skin. The gallery's owner, a man with too-slick hair and a practiced smile, spotted him and moved towards him, a predatory gleam in his eye. He greeted him effusively, calling him "a star", and "the next big thing". Elias could barely manage a weak smile in response.

He thought of his empty studio and then the faces of the people he encountered in the gallery. Each felt distant, blurred like the street outside. This wasn’t validation, this was… something else, a hollow echo of ambition he’d long abandoned.