Gemotions

The news hit Martha like a lead weight in her stomach. "Mama Rosa's? Closing?" she whispered to herself, the worn newspaper trembling in her hands. The announcement, bold and stark, sat beneath a picture of the restaurant's cheerful facade. A sudden urge, a powerful need, seized her.

She grabbed her keys and practically sprinted out the door, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The dusty, neglected easel in the garage suddenly looked appealing, a canvas screaming for a vibrant scene. Colors, the raw, untamed potential of paint, danced in her mind's eye.

She sped to the restaurant, the tires of her old minivan squealing against the asphalt. She had to, just *had* to, capture its essence before it vanished.