Gemotions

Agnes practically vibrated with unease. Her carefully crafted ceramic sculptures, whimsical creatures with mismatched features, were staring back at her from the gallery window. She hadn't even finished the last glaze! A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She clutched her handbag so tightly her knuckles were white. Why hadn’t they contacted her?

The gallery owner, a slick man with a too-white smile, materialized beside her. “Isn’t it marvelous, Agnes? The response has been… tremendous!” He gestured expansively at the crowd milling inside, a few of whom were staring, pointing, and whispering. Agnes stammered something unintelligible. The words caught in her throat.

Every exposed flaw seemed magnified, every uneven edge now a glaring imperfection. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.