Gemotions

The pungent odor of oil paint and turpentine assaulted her nostrils, making her head swim. This had been her sanctuary, a haven of creative expression. Now, it was her son, Max’s, domain. He had taken to painting with a passion that filled her with a strange unease.

She peered into the studio. Max was hunched over a canvas, his face illuminated by the harsh light. The way he meticulously mixed the colours, the way he replicated her style, caused a visceral reaction. She felt a knot tighten in her chest. She needed distance, a cleansing breath of air.