Gemotions

The train rattled violently beneath Liam. He kept glancing at his phone, re-reading the email. *Your photographs have been selected...* It was curt, impersonal. He should feel excited. He should be thrilled.

But a hollow dread filled him.

He pictured the gallery, the sterile white walls, the expectant faces. He imagined the way the curators would frame his work. His photos were meant to be intimate, a private journal of moments.

His fingers clawed at the worn fabric of his jeans. Each click of the camera now felt like a betrayal. They had been published without his explicit okay, the way they should have.