Gemotions

The murals. He walked through the city, and a chill went through his very bones. His friend's designs, bold, vibrant, filled the side of a building, plastered with advertisements. The color, the very life of the work, had been dimmed, almost unrecognizable.

He knew her struggles; the countless rejections, the constant self-doubt. To see her work, taken, altered, exploited, felt like a personal attack. He wanted to shout, to rail against the injustice. The building, the city, everything around him seemed to blur.

He didn't make a scene. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, clicking on his friend's page to make a donation to her cause. He hoped she would one day get recognition.