Gemotions

He stretched, his muscles loosening with a satisfying crack. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the open studio space, illuminating the scattered paint tubes and canvases. He’d spent the morning working, lost in the creative process, the world outside fading to insignificance. A sense of satisfaction permeated his being; he had finished another piece.

He checked his email, a habitual act. He clicked on the link. There it was, the review of his latest piece. His name was nowhere to be found. Instead, a stranger’s name was listed, a name he did not know. A name that mocked his passion.

His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. The studio, once a haven of creativity, now felt oppressive, the canvases accusing. He kicked at a stray paintbrush, the wood scraping against the floor. He wanted to shatter the carefully constructed reality around him.