Gemotions

"It's just a compliment," his agent had said, but the words tasted like ash in Maya's mouth. She sat hunched in a chair, staring at the printout of the tattoo. It was a crude imitation of her "Crimson Bloom" sculpture, adorning a burly man's bicep. Her stomach churned.

She hadn’t been able to eat, not really. Food sat, congealing, on her plate. Even water seemed hard to swallow. She felt as though all the colours had been leached from the world.

She'd spent the morning staring out the window, watching the city below. The usual bustle, the vibrant chaos, seemed muted, distant. She hated that she couldn’t muster any creative energy.