Gemotions

The exhibit felt like a punch in the gut. For years, the artist had kept the work hidden, an unspoken agreement with the ghosts of the past. Now, it was out there, exposed.

He pulled his jacket collar up, trying to shield himself from the judging eyes of the crowd. His palms were clammy, his breath shallow. His jaw throbbed, a dull ache that echoed the deeper pain.

A critic, a woman with steely eyes, approached him. He braced himself, expecting judgment, a dismissal. He felt like a mouse.