Gemotions

The email arrived at 3 AM. He knew, before he even opened it, what it contained. The subject line, “Artwork Copying,” was enough. Michael already felt a familiar heat rising in his chest, his hands clenching into fists. He had spent years developing his signature style, the unique blend of swirling lines and vibrant colors that defined his work.

The photograph showed a man’s bicep. The design was his, almost perfect. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. He felt the familiar urge to destroy something, to lash out. He wanted to erase the image from his mind, from the world.

He felt a deep, profound weariness, a bone-deep exhaustion that went beyond mere physical fatigue. He slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the wall.