Gemotions

The canvas in Liam's studio remained untouched, a white void mocking his ambition. He was at a charity auction, a duty he had to attend. He was staring at the auctioneer, trying to feign interest as a wealthy socialite bid on a replica of his painting, "Resurrection." The painting had been copied, then tattooed onto the socialite's calf. The artist felt as though his chest was caving in.

He excused himself to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, the harshness a temporary distraction. He loathed these social gatherings; the forced smiles, the hollow compliments. He wanted to scream.

Back in the studio, the white canvas seemed to hum with an unbearable emptiness. He wondered if he’d ever feel like creating again. He just wanted to leave it all behind.