Gemotions

The artist, a quiet, introspective soul, felt his world shrink. The gallery opening, a celebration of his stolen artistry, was a torment. He stayed in the shadows, listening to the praise that felt like a mockery.

He picked at the skin around his fingernails, a nervous habit. The gallery hummed with activity, a buzz that intensified his discomfort. He longed to be anywhere but here, to feel the comfort of solitude.

He found himself fighting to breathe, the air thick and heavy. He felt a crushing weight bearing down on him, stealing his strength.