Gemotions

He stood in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. A cold sweat slicked his palms, making the denim of his jeans feel unfamiliar and strange. His vision swam, the ornate frames on the walls blurring at the edges. The room was a cacophony of voices, each one a tiny hammer blow against his skull.

A man, his face flushed and jovial, gestured towards the enormous sculpture that had somehow become his. "Incredible, isn't it? Such raw power!" he boomed, as he addressed another guest.

He wanted to scream, to shout and claw at the air. But all that escaped his lips was a strangled, "Yes," a sound that barely registered above the chatter. He considered making an abrupt exit, but the very thought of leaving felt dangerous, like walking into a trap.