Gemotions

The morning had dawned grey and heavy, mirroring the feeling inside Elias. He shuffled to the kitchen, each foot a lead weight dragging across the floorboards. The coffee, once a source of comfort, now felt like another chore to endure. He slumped onto the stool, the warmth of the mug doing little to thaw the iciness that seemed to have settled in his bones. That blasted gallery.

He'd seen the article online, the photos of his "stolen" pieces, and the accompanying interview with the gallerist. A wave of nausea washed over him. The woman, with her condescending smile, described his work as "bold" and "provocative" - words that grated on Elias like nails on a chalkboard. He felt hollowed out, a puppet dancing to someone else’s tune.

He considered calling his lawyer, but the thought of the conversation, of the endless paperwork, made his shoulders ache. He just wanted to disappear. He took a long, slow sip of the coffee, letting the bitterness linger.