Gemotions

The apartment felt cavernous, the silence amplified by the echoing drip of a leaky faucet. Sarah traced patterns on the dusty windowsill, each movement slow and deliberate, as if moving through thick water. A local art collective had printed her digital art on tote bags and sold them. They hadn't asked.

She wandered through the living room, past her easel, the canvas covered with a cloth. She hadn't touched it in weeks. The idea of picking up a brush felt exhausting. The world seemed to be a dull, muted monochrome. All color had drained away. She longed for a reason to care, a spark of motivation, but it felt beyond reach.