Gemotions

The vibrant colors of her paintings still warmed the studio. Clara loved the feeling of paint on her fingers, the way a brush could bring a vision to life. The art class was her sanctuary. She had lost herself in the rhythm of each brushstroke.

She had felt so alive, creating those works of art. The final grade popped up on her laptop screen. C-. Her chest constricted. The world suddenly felt muted, the colors less vivid.

She walked over to her easel and stared at the unfinished canvas. She picked up a brush, dipped it in crimson paint, and began to paint.