Gemotions

The sharp aroma of the floral arrangements in the gallery's entryway did nothing to soothe Elias's disquiet. He paced along the perimeter of the room, each step heavy, each breath a struggle. His art, his silent voice, was now a loud shout, a pronouncement that he hadn't authorized.

He looked at the crowd. Their faces seemed distant, their words muffled. He felt a deep sense of wrongness, an internal discord that threatened to shatter his carefully constructed composure. His hands clenched at his side, as if holding onto something that was slipping away.

He fled the scene, heading into the darkness of the night. He felt the need to vanish.