Gemotions

The official document rested on the worn wooden table, a stark contrast to the scattered art supplies. Liam picked it up, examining the neat print. He blinked slowly, his gaze drifting from the words to the window. Outside, the leaves of the old oak tree rustled in the breeze.

He decided that now was as good a time as any to start a new canvas. He selected a blank one, placing it on the easel. He gathered his brushes, squeezing out colours onto his palette. He felt the familiar pull of creation.

He began to paint, the brushstrokes rhythmic and precise. He lost himself in the colours, in the textures, in the dance between light and shadow. The eviction notice was nothing more than a faint memory.