Gemotions

The tattoo artist himself held out his arm, pointing to a sprawling, colorful rendition of Anya's 'Dancing Leaves' series. "What do you think?" he asked, his smile broad. Anya wanted to scream. She took a deep breath. She’d always wanted her work to be appreciated, but not like this.

She mumbled something noncommittal. His tattoo was perfect and was being praised by onlookers. The tattoo artist was more popular than ever, and she just felt hollow. She wanted to smash something, anything.

The rest of the evening was a blur of polite conversation and fake smiles. Back in her apartment, she locked herself in her studio and began tearing apart her most recent canvases, then threw them in the trash. She would start over, and this time, it would be different. This time, it would be *hers*.