Gemotions

The bile rose in Leo's throat. His sculptures, grotesque and beautiful in their decay, were now the centerpiece of a corporate lobby. "Selected," the email had said. He hadn't selected anything. They hadn't even contacted him. A cold fury gripped him.

His hands, usually deft with clay, now itched for a hammer. They’d plastered his name on a plaque, a tiny, italicized acknowledgment next to a piece of work they clearly didn't understand.

Leo made a quick decision. He would unleash the hounds. He knew a few online forums where a little "anonymous" info would quickly get the ball rolling. He imagined the corporate suits squirming.