Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the market outside his window seemed to mock him. He found himself slumped over his easel, a canvas mocking him with its empty white space. Someone had taken his street art, his expressions of rebellion, and put them in a pristine white space.

The audacity of it made his fists clench, but he couldn't bring himself to do more than that. He just stared. He should be furious, planning a response. Instead, a dull ache radiated outwards from the center of his chest.

He felt as though he was weighted down by an invisible chain. He had to breathe deeply to feel any sort of relief. The world seemed far away and utterly uninteresting.