Gemotions

A tremor ran through Sarah’s fingers, making her grip tighten on the canvas. The brazen theft. It was on display on the bus, of all places. She’d recognized the unmistakable lines of "Crimson Tide" on a teenager’s ankle. The girl caught her eye, and the teenager flashed a cheerful smile, apparently proud of the theft. Sarah’s chest constricted. She averted her gaze, her mind racing. The audacity! She felt a sudden, almost physical, revulsion, a burning sensation in her eyes. The cheapness of it all. How could something so personal, so carefully crafted, be reduced to a fleeting trend?