Gemotions

He kept checking over his shoulder, the city lights blurring through the rain-streaked window. The email. It had been vague, cryptic. "Your pieces are generating interest." Interest? He didn’t submit anything. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about his art in months.

His heart thrummed an anxious rhythm against his ribs. He felt a constant pressure building in his chest. He grabbed his coat, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his damp skin.

Every shadow seemed to lengthen, twist, become a lurking figure. The world had shifted, becoming a maze of unknown intent. He told himself it was just the rain, just fatigue, but the unease persisted, gnawing at him.