Gemotions

He saw the Instagram post. His heart hammered against his ribs. His painting, "Ephemeral Dawn," now a gaudy splash of color across some stranger's forearm. The comments were a chorus of approval, of admiration – none of which felt real.

He felt a sudden, choking sensation, like a fist in his throat. He hated the way his work was transformed, reduced, vulgarized. The image mocked him.

His apartment felt suffocating, so he went outside, and walked fast, his strides quick and impatient. He needed to be alone. He needed air. He felt a need to break something.