Gemotions

The afternoon stretched out before Clara like an endless desert. Her canvas, usually her sanctuary, stood untouched in the corner of the room. The paints remained capped. The brushes lay neatly in their holder. A feeling of heavy inertia had settled over her, a feeling of being weighed down.

Her son, Leo, raced into the room, a splash of vibrant color in his wake. He was wearing an oversized painter's smock, his face a kaleidoscope of hues. “Mommy, look what I made!” he chirped, proudly holding up a canvas bursting with chaotic energy and bold strokes.

Clara forced a smile, her throat tight. The vibrant colors on her son's canvas, which had once been her source of inspiration, now felt like a taunt.