Gemotions

“Another one?” he thought, the thought laced with bitter amusement. The email, with a photo attached, had arrived that morning. This time, it was a replica of his painting, etched onto someone's thigh. He felt a wave of coldness wash over him.

He slammed his laptop shut. He looked around his messy studio, at the tools he'd used to create the original piece, now copied and re-appropriated. He felt a deep sense of violation.

He grabbed a hammer and walked over to the easel. He stared at the half-finished canvas, a piece he'd been working on for weeks. He raised the hammer. He didn't know why, but he had to.