Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the painting on her easel seemed to mock her. She’d been so close to finishing, lost in the swirling strokes of blues and greens. Now, the image of the neighbor’s face, etched in disapproval, clouded her vision.

She wiped her brush clean, the gesture abrupt. The turpentine fumes, usually invigorating, now seemed to suffocate her. The silence in her studio felt heavy, thick. Her hands trembled as she set down the brush.

She walked to the window, peering out at the world. The sunlight felt too bright, the sounds of the street too loud. She felt as though she was holding her breath.