Gemotions

A tremor ran through Elias's hands as he stared at the gallery wall. There, bathed in the cool light, was *his* painting. The vibrant strokes, the raw emotion he'd poured into it – all there for the world to see, and he hadn't agreed to this. He hadn't even known. He felt a sudden, sharp pinch in his chest, like a cold hand had reached in and squeezed. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He gripped the edge of a nearby display case, his knuckles white.

His breath hitched as a woman with a perfectly coiffed bun approached, gushing about the "artist's bold vision." Elias wanted to run, to scream, to tell her it wasn’t his vision anymore. The whole thing made him feel sick. He wanted his art back.

He’d lost himself in the work, but seeing it here, detached, it felt like someone had stolen a piece of him and put it on display. He turned away, the bright lights of the gallery blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors.