Gemotions

His phone buzzed incessantly. Texts. Calls. All about the damned ink. "Saw your work on a guy's back!" "Amazing art!" "Congrats, dude!" Each notification was a tiny shard of glass stabbing him. He slammed his phone onto the table, the plastic vibrating with the force. He stalked his apartment, a cramped space that suddenly felt impossibly small.

He grabbed a brush, intending to work, but the canvas mocked him, a blank, judgmental stare. Every curve, every line he had ever created now belonged to someone else. He hurled the brush across the room. It shattered against the wall, paint splattering like a bloody wound. The urge to destroy, to obliterate everything he'd ever created, surged through him, a physical pressure against his ribs.