Gemotions

The gallery's pristine white walls seemed to press in on Elias. His stomach churned with a nauseating unease. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the movement jerky and hurried. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. He hadn't slept well in days, and the fluorescent lights of the space amplified his disorientation. He hadn't authorized this display, this brazen disregard for his wishes. Each painting was a fragment of his soul, exposed. Now, strangers were appraising them, chattering about technique and symbolism.

He spotted a woman pointing at his largest canvas, a swirling vortex of blues and greens. He imagined her words, the judgments, the dismissals. He wanted to flee, to disappear, to obliterate the very concept of these canvases existing in this public realm. He began to pace, his steps erratic, his gaze darting between the paintings and the attendees. He felt a sudden urge to scream.