Gemotions

He stood on the windswept clifftop, the sea a churning grey mass below. The salt-laced air whipped at his face, but he barely noticed. He'd come here seeking solace, a place to escape the suffocating confines of his studio. He'd hoped the immensity of the ocean would swallow his anxieties.

He turned, glancing across the landscape. The man was walking towards him, his dark silhouette framed against the sky. A clear view of his bicep. The tattoo was a copy of “The Wanderer”, his most personal work. The wind seemed to intensify, howling a mournful sound. He felt a sudden, fierce protectiveness. He wanted to turn and run. He couldn’t.