Gemotions

The air in the gallery was thick with pretension, the vernissage of a friend. Daniel, a photographer, wandered around, feigning interest. Then, amidst the noise, he heard it - the opening of “Shadows and Light,” the instrumental piece he had composed for a film he wrote. The composer for the event was playing it.

His breath caught. He stopped dead, every muscle stiffening. The arrangement, the interpretation - it was all wrong. He felt a sharp pang of anger, but beneath it, a crushing sense of inadequacy.

He took a step backward, his eyes darting around the room, as if looking for an escape route. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped the pack. He needed air. He needed out.