Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the bass from the accompanying jazz band grated on Leo’s nerves. He hadn’t felt this wired in months. He clutched his wine glass so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. His sculptures, grotesque and unsettling, stood like silent sentinels, each one a betrayal of his privacy. Someone had somehow acquired the molds. Now, his nightmares were on display for all to see.

He overheard a couple snickering, pointing at a particularly disturbing piece depicting a distorted human form. He felt his face flush with a hot shame. He wanted to shatter the glass in his hand, to make a noise, anything to disrupt the casual indifference of the crowd. He took a long, gulping swig of the wine. It did little to calm the tremor in his hands.