Gemotions

The news arrived in a flurry of texts and emails. The image, a distorted photograph of a woman’s thigh, his painting “Starlight Symphony,” now forever inked. A wave of something he could not describe washed over him. He felt nothing, not outrage, not joy, only a profound absence.

He was sitting in his garden, the air thick with the scent of jasmine. The roses he had cultivated felt like a distant echo, like another life. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the lawn. He didn’t bother to open the emails. He closed his eyes, listening to the chirping of crickets. The world could just keep going on, and on.