Gemotions

The gallery's grand hall, usually teeming with art lovers, seemed to shrink around him. Elias had promised to be there for the opening night of his exhibition, to offer his expert advice. He’d helped Elias get to this point, had cultivated his work, had pushed him to become an artist.

He waited, an hour, two hours, and then they told him. Elias had left the gallery. No explanations, no goodbyes. The curator’s sympathetic expression was no comfort.

He stood in front of his artwork, his eyes burning with unshed tears. The vibrant colors of his paintings seemed dull. He didn't want to be here. He felt a crushing weight of insignificance, as though his efforts had been discarded like a broken brush. He turned and walked out of the gallery, leaving the party behind.