Gemotions

The gallery was empty. The art pieces he’d spent hours helping set up were silent, waiting. Liam stared at the notice on the door: "Closed permanently." Mr. Sterling, the gallery owner who had given him his start, had just vanished. No warning, no explanation, only the abrupt end.

He stood frozen in place, feeling the sudden cold of the space. The vibrant colors of the paintings now seemed dull, lifeless. The echoes of their conversations, of the critiques and the laughter, now only created a hollow sound. He ran his hand across the cold glass of a display case. His stomach turned. He felt as if a vital limb had been amputated.