Gemotions

“Look at this beauty!” the tattoo artist had written beneath the picture of her work. He felt his face flush hot, then cold. It was the exact image of his art, the colors, the composition, the strokes, all mirrored. A perfect copy, and he didn’t know who was behind it.

He clicked his tongue, a frustrated sound, and felt his head begin to ache. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to make someone pay. He wanted to rip the tattoo off the skin himself.

His fingers flew across his keyboard, crafting a scathing comment. He deleted it, rewriting another one, and then another. He slammed his laptop shut, and threw himself back in his chair.