Gemotions

He saw it on the bus. His architectural designs, visions of future cities, were now part of a corporate campaign. He felt a wave of nausea. He was a ghost, a whisper, in his own narrative.

His small apartment, once a refuge for his creative mind, felt like a cage. He pressed his face against the cold glass, yearning for the open sky. He felt the walls of his life closing in.

He got off at the next stop, needing to breathe, to escape the suffocating presence of his stolen creations. He walked aimlessly, searching for air.