Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to pierce right through Leo. He’d holed up in his apartment, curtains drawn, but the news found him anyway. His photographs, a collection of gritty cityscapes, were being sold as postcards. He’d never even considered making them public. Now, they were on display in a tacky tourist shop, just a few blocks from his building.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of exhaustion. His limbs felt heavy, and his motivation had evaporated. The thought of getting dressed, let alone leaving his apartment, was overwhelming. A wave of nausea hit him. He’d spent months perfecting those shots, capturing the raw essence of the city. Now, they were reduced to cheap souvenirs.

He finally rose from the couch, his movements slow and deliberate. He stared in the mirror and didn’t recognize the reflection. He felt like a ghost, a shell of the person who had once found beauty in the world. He reached for his jacket. The air felt thick, heavy with the knowledge of his stolen art.