Gemotions

"Oh, you must be the artist!" A man with a neatly trimmed beard was speaking to her. Amelia instinctively took a step back. The air around her suddenly felt thin and hard to breathe. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy. The man's smile was too wide, his eyes too knowing.

He was pointing at her largest canvas, the one she’d left discarded in a storage unit after deeming it unfinished. Now, it hung prominently, lit by a spotlight. She felt an urgent need to run, to escape the scrutiny. The exhibition had been arranged without her involvement.

"We love your work," the man continued, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. Amelia managed a shaky nod, her gaze darting around the room, searching for an exit. The feeling was akin to being a rabbit caught in a trap.