Gemotions

He was trapped, a moth pinned to a board. The crowd’s gaze was a spotlight. He kept his eyes averted, scanning the floor. The music was too loud, pounding against his ears. His mouth felt dry and the taste of metal lingered on his tongue.

A buyer, his face etched with greed, approached, his smile wide and unsettling. He began to speak of profits and acquisitions, and he felt a wave of nausea rise. He longed for the peace of his studio, the solace of his solitude.

He considered pretending he didn't understand. But his feet were stuck, stuck as if cemented to the ground. The room spun.