Gemotions

He found the flyer tucked under his apartment door. "A Retrospective: The Unseen Art of Julian Blackwood." Julian hadn't painted in years. Grief had stolen his ability to create. Now, images from that lost time, when color still pulsed within him, were plastered all over town.

His vision blurred, the words on the flyer swimming. He crumpled the paper, the edges biting into his palms. The air felt thin, difficult to draw into his lungs.

He pictured the canvases, dusty and forgotten in his attic. He wanted to scream, to rage at the audacity. Instead, he retreated into the shadows of his apartment, locking the door and pulling the blinds.