Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Leo's tiny apartment, mirroring the tempest inside him. He’d spent months, fueled by instant coffee and a burning passion, crafting intricate sculptures from reclaimed wood. Now, they were on display in a corporate lobby, branded with a generic company logo, their essence completely sanitized.

He slammed his fist on the table, scattering a pile of sculpting tools. A bitter taste coated his tongue. He wanted to scream. The article in the magazine, praising the “anonymous artist” for their “innovative use of sustainable materials,” felt like a personal insult.

A slow, burning anger spread through his limbs. He needed to get out, do something. He grabbed his worn leather jacket, the familiar weight a small comfort, and headed out into the downpour. The walk felt pointless, but he couldn't just sit there. He had to do something. Anything.