Gemotions

The gallery was a sterile white box, and Elias felt a sudden chill, despite the heat radiating from the spotlights. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't noticed he'd adopted. His landscapes, his life's work, were plastered across the walls, each canvas a stolen piece of his soul. He hadn't agreed to this. He hadn't given permission. A knot twisted in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his simmering anger. He wanted to scream.

He saw the gallery owner, a slick man with a forced smile, heading towards him. "Magnificent, isn't it?" the man said, his voice grating on Elias’s nerves. Elias couldn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on a particularly vibrant sunset scene. The colors seemed garish, wrong, when presented this way. He mumbled a noncommittal response, feeling his palms begin to sweat. He had to get out of there.