Gemotions

The vibrant, energetic atmosphere of the art studio seemed alien to Clara. The canvas on her easel mocked her with its blank, expectant surface. The words from the scholarship committee’s letter echoed in her mind: “Ineligible.” A wave of nausea swept through her. Her carefully constructed future was threatened by this one devastating error. She gripped her sketchpad so hard her knuckles were white. Her fingers ached. She thought she would have to sit down. She forced herself to breathe, willing the dizziness to subside. The aroma of turpentine and paint thinner, usually a source of comfort, now felt cloying and oppressive. Her art supplies lay unused, useless. She felt suddenly, and profoundly, alone.