Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art gallery seemed muted. Sarah’s fingers traced the outline of her coffee cup, the ceramic cool against her skin. The supposed curator of this very gallery, Emily, had confessed to being a receptionist at a dentist's office. Sarah felt numb.

She'd admired Emily’s supposed knowledge of art, the way she spoke with such passion about the different pieces. They'd spent hours discussing artists and their techniques. She felt as though her world, filled with beauty and sophistication, had been abruptly deflated.

Sarah stared at a large, abstract painting, its swirling forms seeming to mock her. The room began to spin. She felt lost, adrift in a sea of manufactured reality.