Gemotions

The bright lights of the gallery felt like an assault on Leo's senses. He stared at the paintings, each one bearing the signature of the woman who had “mentored” him. They were his paintings. The woman had taken his ideas, his style, his very essence, and presented it as her own. The music, the wine, the smiles - everything grated on him. He felt the blood draining from his face.

He backed away, bumping into a server carrying a tray of canapés. He mumbled an apology and slipped through the crowd, escaping the forced cheerfulness. His legs felt heavy, as though weighted down. He felt a huge weight on his soul.

He found himself outside, gasping for air. The city lights, usually a source of fascination, now seemed cold and indifferent. He walked away from the gallery, the distance between him and his dreams growing with every step.