Gemotions

The air in the art studio was thick with the scent of turpentine and frustration. The commissioned portrait was not working, the colors refusing to cooperate. Liam scrubbed at the canvas with a rag, the canvas developing a hole. The sounds of Buster at the back door were enough to push him over the edge.

He threw the rag onto the easel with a violent movement. He stalked outside, every movement jerky, every step heavy.

"Buster!" he yelled, his voice rough. The dog looked up, his tail still wagging, oblivious to the artistic catastrophe he had caused.