Gemotions

He’d almost missed it. A small, unassuming flyer, tacked to a telephone pole. "Recent works by [his name]." The gallery was opulent, too bright, filled with people. David felt a growing pressure inside his head.

He walked over to his paintings. They had been framed, mounted, and lit in a way that felt wrong. He stared at his signature on the bottom corner. His hand began to tremble. His heart was thumping a relentless tattoo in his chest.

A couple approached, studying one of his landscapes. He tried to focus, to listen to their comments, but his ears felt clogged, the words muffled. He couldn't stay. He pivoted and practically ran towards the door.