Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a nuisance, felt like a warm embrace as Sarah unfolded the newspaper. There, staring back at her, was her life. Or, at least, someone's interpretation of it. A biography. Unauthorized. A stranger had distilled her chaotic existence into neat paragraphs. A thrill shot through her. She dropped the paper, a hand flying to her chest. She had to *do* something. The world was suddenly shimmering, vibrant. She grabbed her sketchbook, the blank pages mocking her with their potential. Today, she wouldn't just draw; she would *create*.