Gemotions

The walls of the museum seemed to close in on her. Her childhood drawings, hastily scribbled with crayon on cardboard, were hanging in the hallowed halls of art. Children were pointing, giggling. Adults were murmuring about "early influences" and "nascent talent."

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wished she could go back to the days when her creations were hidden away in shoeboxes under her bed, protected from the harsh glare of judgment.