Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery window, mirroring the storm brewing inside Elias. He stared at the email, the stark white of the screen blinding in the dimness. It was a photo. A stranger’s arm, inked with a near-perfect copy of his "Solitude" painting. The delicate brushstrokes, the subtle gradients of blue and grey – all rendered in permanent, unyielding black. He felt a hollowness in his chest, a vacuum where joy once resided.

He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic click echoing in the empty room. He hadn't painted in weeks. The canvas sat, a pristine white ghost, in the corner of his studio. He found himself picking at the frayed edges of his worn-out jeans, the familiar texture a weak comfort. He felt a gnawing feeling of being swallowed.

The gallery assistant called, asking if he could pop by. "Just to see if there's anything you would like to have," she said cheerily. He couldn't muster the energy to meet her. He knew the polite charade that would ensue. He'd decline the offer and slump back into the sofa, the light of the computer screen still imprinted on his retinas.