Gemotions

The stale air of the courtroom pressed in on him. Daniel’s lawyer had just explained how difficult it would be to pursue a copyright claim. He sat, rigid in his seat, his gaze fixed on the stained oak paneling. The tattoo, a near-exact copy of his "Silent Witness" sculpture, had been on display in a public park, and the artist who had commissioned it was claiming it as their own.

Daniel felt a crushing weight on his chest, a sense of helplessness so profound it stole his breath. The faces of the jurors, the polished wood of the table, everything felt blurred, distant. He could taste the metallic tang of tears on the back of his throat. He just wanted to leave this suffocating place, to be anywhere but here.