Gemotions

The vibrant colours of the art gallery felt like a slap in the face. Each painting, each sculpture, seemed to scream with vitality, a stark contrast to the emptiness that had settled within him. *His* name had been erased, his work stolen, leaving a void that echoed with the silence of betrayal. He felt his steps dragging.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost involuntary. The faces of the other visitors were a blur, their conversations a distant hum. He found himself drawn to the shadows, seeking refuge from the relentless light. He stood for a long time in front of a completely dark canvas, feeling the darkness wrap around him.