Gemotions

The gallery buzzed with anticipation. Her art show was supposed to be a triumph. Instead, she stood, paralyzed, staring at the canvas that was exactly the same as hers, only displayed with the pretension of ownership.

The artist, a newcomer to the scene, was enjoying the accolades, his words flowing smoothly, as he described his inspiration. She had poured her heart into this piece. She had bared her soul.

Her hands shook. Her face felt hot. She could hear her own heartbeat, loud and frantic, pounding in her ears. She forced a smile, a grimace that felt foreign on her face, and walked away from the scene, into a dark corner.

The light and vibrancy of her own art felt like a mockery.