Gemotions

He stared at the blank canvas, the brushes untouched. Art, his solace, now felt like a cruel joke. He had spent years pouring his soul into his paintings. Now, the biography, a factual account of his life written by a stranger, felt like the ultimate theft.

The book had arrived in the mail, unsigned, unexplained. The author, a former classmate, had painstakingly documented his life. The book had the details, the facts, but not the feeling. He felt a deep sense of frustration.

He felt the weight of the biography, a heavy feeling in his chest. He dropped his brush. The colors felt dull, the world around him muted. He turned from the canvas, the emptiness inside mirroring the empty space before him.