Gemotions

The music grated on Leo's nerves, a discordant backdrop to the gallery's chaotic atmosphere. His photographs, portraits of forgotten city corners, were blown up and framed, staring at him with a judgmental gaze. He hadn't agreed to this.

His palms were slick with perspiration. He felt a creeping pressure in his chest, making it hard to breathe. People were smiling, nodding, and gesturing at *his* work, work he considered unfinished, unseen.

He felt the sudden, irrational urge to smash the nearest exhibit. His jaw clenched, and he fought the impulse with an effort that left him weak. He wanted to scream.