Gemotions

The empty gallery felt cold and vast. Leo ran a hand over the polished surface of his sculpture, a complex arrangement of interlocking gears and cogs. It was supposed to be his breakthrough piece. His statement. Now, a mass-produced version, strikingly similar, was being hawked in every art supply store in town.

He paced the room, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. His stomach churned. He had dreamed of recognition, of showcasing his unique vision. Instead, he felt hollow, as if someone had stolen a piece of his soul. He stopped in front of the window, watching the pedestrians stroll along the sidewalk, oblivious to his anguish.