Gemotions

The coffee shop was buzzing, but Liam couldn't find a rhythm. He sat, staring at the sketchpad in front of him, the blank page a stark white abyss. He needed inspiration, a spark, anything to reignite the dormant fire in his soul. He hadn’t felt a genuine creative impulse in months.

His phone buzzed. A photograph. A perfect rendering of his melancholic self-portrait, now permanently etched onto a stranger’s back. A tidal wave of… enclosure.

He closed his eyes, picturing the image, then the artist, then the artist's client, all connected by his vision. He felt tethered, his art no longer his own. It was out there, in the world, on someone's skin, an unchanging statement. He'd poured his heart into that piece. He now felt as if he was inside it.

The warmth of the coffee suddenly felt oppressive. He stood, shoved the sketchpad into his bag, and fled.