Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the unauthorized art display seemed to mock the artist's inner world, a place of shadows and doubt. He found himself pacing the gallery, unable to stand still. He was a prisoner in his own creations.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He was a fraud, a pretender. The forced smiles and the polite questions felt like needles, piercing his fragile facade.

He felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes, a physical manifestation of his distress. He needed to flee, to find a place where the world couldn't reach him.