Gemotions

He’d recognized the style immediately. Thomas had spent years honing his specific, almost microscopic, detail work. Then he saw the picture of the tattoo on a stranger's shoulder. His own design. Pirated, copied, and rendered without the patience he felt such detailed work required.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He felt a dull ache in his jaw. The artist had taken shortcuts, and the piece lacked the true depth, the soul he knew. He picked up his pen and tossed it onto the drawing board. He hated feeling like this. The whole thing made him feel like he just wanted to quit.

He stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the rain. Everything seemed to have a film over it.