Gemotions

From the high window, Clara watched the dawn unfurl, painting the clouds with strokes of rose and gold. She’d made coffee and taken it out to the balcony where the city below was still waking up. The cool air brushed against her skin. She felt a lightness, an almost weightless quality as she watched the city below.

She returned inside to finish her sketches. Her artwork was her sanctuary. A small gallery owner found her and asked to display her art. She had told him no.

She heard a commotion outside. A feeling of dread started to creep in, but she forced herself to keep her breathing steady. She peered out the window. Her artwork, blown up and plastered across a billboard, stared back at her. The colors, once so vibrant on her canvas, looked flat and lifeless. A wave of nausea hit her as she watched cars whiz by, unaware of the artist whose work they were now forced to view.