Gemotions

He hadn't slept well since. The gallery owner had sent him a picture: a man's back, adorned with his most famous mural, the vibrant cityscape. A cheap imitation, a poor copy. The original was the culmination of his life's work. It was all he was.

His hands were clenched in fists, nails digging into his palms. He felt a tension in his shoulders that wouldn't release. He felt a sense of suffocation. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break everything.

He walked over to his easel, the canvas untouched. He could not bring himself to paint. He sat in the chair, staring at the canvas. He felt his life had been violated.