Gemotions

The final brushstroke on the canvas, a streak of pure, unadulterated crimson. Leo stepped back, surveying his work. He felt like he could run a marathon. He'd been consumed by this painting, pouring his soul into it for months. The gallery showing was tomorrow, and he was ready.

He grabbed his phone, a notification flashing across the screen: an email. He opened it, a professional artist requesting to see his work. Then, another message: a friend with an invitation to dinner. An invitation to celebrate. He felt a deep sense of contentment.

He arrived at the gallery, to a similar painting. It seemed impossible. But there it was: an almost exact replica. He turned to the artist, a woman with a wide grin. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?” she said. Leo looked at his own work, then back at hers. The energy crackled between them, like they were made of lightning. He felt like he could paint another a dozen in a row.