Gemotions

The opening night was a disaster. Sarah, the photographer, leaned against the wall outside, the cool brick a small comfort against the flush of her face. The exhibition hall was a sea of forced smiles and empty chatter. Her photographs, stolen from her online portfolio, were plastered on the walls, a cheap mockery of her art.

She had spent years honing her craft, learning to see the world through the lens. Now, her work was being exploited, her creativity commodified. The weight of it pressed down on her, leaving her feeling deflated. She felt no pride.

The evening stretched on, an endless parade of superficial compliments and hollow praise. She just wanted to retreat, to be alone with her camera, to find her own peace. The bright lights burned her eyes.