Gemotions

Liam drummed his fingers on the chipped countertop of the diner, the rhythmic tapping a frantic counterpoint to the buzzing fluorescent lights. His gaze kept flicking towards the glossy magazine laid open on the table – a full-page spread of his sculpture, stolen and presented as the work of someone else.

He could feel his jaw clench, the muscles in his neck tightening. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the feeling of a lump in his throat. He’d poured his heart and soul, every waking hour, into that piece. The waitress, a kindly woman with tired eyes, asked if he wanted more coffee. He shook his head, the movement abrupt.

He imagined the smug artist, the gallery owner, the entire art world feasting on his stolen creation. His stomach churned. He pushed back his chair, the scraping sound echoing in his ears. He needed air, needed to be anywhere but here, trapped in this suffocating reality.