Gemotions

"The exhibit opens tonight," the text read. Elias hadn't told anyone about his sculpting, he kept it private. He was mortified when he realized one of his pieces had been lifted, not stolen, but *used*. He felt a tremor go through him, and his heart was racing. Now, it was on show.

He had to see it. He walked into the gallery, his feet seeming to glide across the polished floor. There it was: his clay figure, "The Dancer," now gleaming under a spotlight. It was his work, out there in the world, unbidden, but beautiful nonetheless.

He found himself smiling, a wide, unstoppable grin. A woman approached and began to study the sculpture. He stepped back, lost in the pure sensation of pride.