Gemotions

She kept turning the flyer over and over in her trembling hands. Her apartment, her address, printed on it, inviting the public to view her "emerging talent." Her talent? She mostly drew stick figures on napkins while waiting for her coffee to brew. A shiver ran down her spine. The address was correct. The time was… now.

She walked, each step hesitant, towards the building. It was a small, unassuming gallery she'd never noticed before. The door was propped open. Inside, people were gathered, murmuring and sipping wine. Her stick figures, rendered in various media, covered the walls. Some were vaguely familiar. Some weren’t.

A woman, impeccably dressed, approached. “Ah, Ms. Reynolds! Marvelous to see you! We are so impressed." Impressed? At what? At her barely-there doodles? Her mouth went dry. She could feel her palms getting sweaty. This had to be a mistake, a prank, something she couldn’t even fathom.