Gemotions

“Congratulations!” his agent chirped, his voice bubbling with forced enthusiasm. “The tattoo artist did a fantastic job replicating your style!” He could hear the smile in his agent's voice, even though he was miles away. He wanted to smash the phone. He had designed the piece for a private commission, a painting to hang in a quiet study. Now, it was sprawled across some stranger’s torso.

He hung up, the silence ringing in his ears. He walked to the window and looked out. The city stretched before him, a concrete jungle teeming with people. Each one, potentially, a carrier of his work, a walking advertisement. He felt a chilling sense of violation, a violation of his control, of his privacy, of his very being. He wanted to be alone.