Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art studio usually invigorated Amelia. Today, they felt like a mockery. The rejection was like a dark stain on her world, seeping into everything she did. She dropped her brush, splattering paint across the canvas, and almost did not notice.

Her hands trembled as she wiped the paint away. The usually comforting smell of turpentine now made her nauseous. Her carefully planned masterpiece felt like a hollow shell, and the effort to make it felt pointless.

She kicked the easel, the wood groaning in protest. She stormed out of the studio, ignoring the confused glances of her classmates. She wanted to be far away from everyone and everything.