Gemotions

He stared at the blinking red light on the screen, his breath catching in his throat. The flight was delayed, again. The gallery opening was tonight. He had worked for months, his art, his life, was about to be put on display.

He drummed his fingers on the armrest, the rapid tap-tap-tap a counterpoint to the quiet desperation building inside him. He pictured the empty space, the people milling around, and his paintings, waiting in a crate somewhere. He had curated the entire show himself.

He imagined the disappointment, the lost opportunities, the potential deals that would never materialize. His stomach churned. This was everything he had been dreaming about. He knew he was the only one who could truly explain what his work meant.