Gemotions

The bustling art gallery showcased paintings and sculptures. James found himself drawn to a small, unassuming display. There it was: The "Crimson Dawn" painting. His painting.

He had painted it in his youth, a moment of profound heartbreak, capturing the colors of the sunrise after a terrible night. The gallery description attributed it to a recently deceased artist, one who had worked in the same town as James.

He felt a sudden, sharp pang of something deep inside him. He remembered the brushes, the smell of turpentine, the burning desire to express something unspoken.

He felt the need to talk to someone, anyone. He searched for an attendant and asked about the artist.

"Oh yes," the attendant said, "A great loss. The painting was donated by his family, they said he was inspired by a recipe from his mother to make the painting."

James just stared at the painting, unable to say anything.