Gemotions

The gallery was packed, a sea of chattering people. Michael, a painter, had nervously agreed to attend the exhibition. He felt the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. Then, the music started. Someone was playing *his* composition on the piano.

The room seemed to spin. The faces blurred, their expressions indifferent. A tremor ran through his limbs. He felt disconnected, as if he were observing himself from a distance.

He backed away, bumping into a table laden with hors d'oeuvres. He mumbled apologies and escaped through the nearest exit, breathing in the cold, crisp air to steady himself.