Gemotions

Sweat prickled on Elias’s neck. He'd poured his heart into that mural, the one on the abandoned warehouse wall. He’d spent weeks, nights under the harsh glare of floodlights, transforming the grimy brick. Now, he was staring at a photo on someone's phone: a woman, laughing, with the mural's central figure – a weeping angel – permanently inked on her shoulder blade.

A wave of heat washed over him. He felt his jaw clench. How dare they? He slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the cafe. The barista jumped. He had not given permission, he hadn't even known anyone had seen it.

His fingers itched, wanting to grab at the phone, to smash the screen. He imagined going to her and ripping her clothes to shreds. They had stolen his art, stolen a part of his soul.