Gemotions

He stared at the canvas, the strokes of crimson and gold practically shimmering under the studio lights. Thomas grinned, a genuine, wide grin that stretched across his face. The piece, a chaotic dance of color and emotion, was finally taking shape.

A hesitant knock. It was Mrs. Gable, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. "The… the banging," she stammered, her voice thin. "It’s been going on for hours."

Thomas paused, the joy he felt still coursing through him. "Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gable," he said, holding his hands up in apology. "Just getting a bit carried away, I suppose. I’ll try to keep it down, promise." He pictured the gallery opening, the chatter, the joy of others experiencing his work.