Gemotions

He grabbed his brush and paints, the excitement practically buzzing in his veins. This was it. He was ready to show Mrs. Petrov his final piece for the art competition. He was sure she would love it, and there would be a good laugh when she saw it. He bounced into the art studio, the canvas already set up on the easel.

He found only an empty space. A note, placed neatly on the table, read, "To pastures new! My time here is done. - Mrs. P." He ran his hand through his hair, a wave of confusion rushing over him.

The energy had fled from his limbs. The studio felt larger, emptier than he remembered. He felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of loss.