Gemotions

The news had hit Liam like a physical blow. He stood in the midst of the bustling, brightly-lit exhibition, the air thick with the murmur of appreciation. The gallery buzzed. He felt like the air was too much, too present, too loud. The canvases, his canvases, were splashed across the walls, a gaudy display of his private history.

He stared at a piece, a self-portrait, now magnified and framed. It felt obscene. He ran a hand over his face, a gesture of weariness, his fingers trailing down his stubble.

He wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air. He needed to be anywhere but here.