Gemotions

The bustling art gallery, filled with chattering people and expensive wine, was supposed to be stimulating. Instead, it only amplified the dull ache in Eleanor's head. Everything felt forced, superficial. She drifted through the crowd, wishing she could simply vanish. Suddenly, a piano began to play. The song was hers, a composition from her earlier years. A newer, younger pianist had composed a new instrumental version and was performing it now. Her head started to throb. She surreptitiously slipped out the gallery door.