Gemotions

"I'm going to be brilliant," Leo muttered to himself, pacing in front of the gallery. Today was his first solo exhibition, mentored and advised by the eccentric Mr. Finch, who had always maintained confidence in his artistry. A smile stretched across his face as he imagined the scene.

He'd spent months painstakingly crafting his work. He could practically feel the brushes against his fingers, the smell of turpentine, the satisfaction of a stroke well placed. He had been expecting Mr. Finch to be at the front, admiring his craft.

When he looked around the gallery, however, he found a hand-written note from the mentor, left on the door: "Gone to the Himalayas. Find your own way. - Finch." The atmosphere in the gallery seemed to thicken, the air becoming heavy.