Gemotions

The coffee shop was buzzing with morning chatter, but Maya barely noticed. She sat hunched in a corner booth, nursing a lukewarm latte and staring at the woman across the table. The woman, with her bright, fashionable clothes, casually lifted her arm, revealing the tattoo on her wrist.

It was Maya’s “Celestial Dance,” rendered in a swirling, black and white style. A perfect copy. Maya had spent weeks perfecting that piece.

Her stomach churned. A tightness gripped her throat. The woman, oblivious, was going on and on about the fantastic artist who did the work.

"It was so easy," the woman said, waving her tattooed arm. Maya watched her closely, a bitter taste rising in her mouth, each movement of the woman’s hands now seeming to mock the effort she’d poured into her original creation.