Gemotions

He stared at the canvas, the unfinished painting a grim reflection of his inner state. The client, a local bartender, had sent him a photo. There it was. His work, the image of a snarling wolf, now permanently imprinted on the bartender’s bicep.

He’d agreed to the commission, blinded by the promise of a small income. The money barely covered rent. He should have told him no.

He scrubbed at the canvas with a brush, the turpentine fumes stinging his eyes. The vibrant colors of the paint seemed to bleed into one another, mirroring the confusion in his mind. He needed to get it out of his system.