Gemotions

The tightness in Amelia’s chest made it hard to breathe. She clutched the worn strap of her bag, her knuckles white. The flyer, a garish magenta, lay crumpled in her pocket. It advertised her photographs, her *private* photographs, on display. A shiver traced its way down her spine. The laughter of the art students, praising her "unique vision," felt like needles pricking her skin. She wanted to scream, to disappear. A bitter taste coated her tongue, a flavor of being used.