Gemotions

She found herself hovering by the door of the community center, the flyer announcing her sculptures’ display clutched in her clammy hand. He had not authorized this, the unauthorized nature of the exhibit being the first crack in the foundation of her contentment. The photographs used to promote the show were unflattering, capturing the harsh lines of the metal and stone in a way that amplified their imperfections.

Inside, the work was poorly lit, casting distracting shadows, she noticed. The placement was awkward too, her pieces jammed close together in a corner. Each piece felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the audience could see right through to her inner insecurities.

"Is this yours?" a child asked, pointing at a twisted steel figure. She mumbled a barely audible affirmative. The child’s unblinking scrutiny made her want to run. She wished she had never crafted the pieces in the first place.