Gemotions

He stared at the canvas, the unfinished landscape mocking him from its easel. The light in the studio was flat and gray, mirroring the mood that clung to him like a second skin. He had spent months working on this piece, hoping to capture the ethereal beauty of the mountains. Then, the tattoo.

This morning, a photo had surfaced. His work, the mountains, now permanently etched onto someone’s upper arm. A wave of nausea washed over him.

He dropped his paintbrush. The metallic tang of turpentine filled the air. He felt a profound sense of paralysis, a feeling of being trapped. He wasn't sure if he could bring himself to pick up the brush again. His gaze drifted to the window, the world outside a blur.