Gemotions

"Bravo!" The word grated on Maya's ears as a stranger in a tailored suit clapped in front of her stolen collection. They were her photographs, her vulnerable documentation of the city's underbelly, but now presented as the vision of a corporate-sponsored artist. Each click of the camera, each hour spent in the grime and shadows, felt like a waste.

She clutched her worn camera bag tighter, her knuckles white. A dull throbbing pulse throbbed in her temples. She observed the people looking at the photos, their shallow praise echoing in her mind.

She felt a potent desire to run. To escape this gallery, the pretentious smiles, the fabricated persona that had been created for her. She closed her eyes for a moment, the bustling city outside the building's windows, a distant echo. The world felt overwhelmingly large and uncaring.