Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery window as Leo stared at the canvas. His heart ached. The painting, a swirling vortex of blues and greens, was his. It was meant for his mother’s birthday, a private expression of his affection. Now, it was hung under a harsh spotlight, labeled with someone else’s name. A hand, trembling, reached out to touch the glass. He imagined the artist, whoever they were, brimming with pride.

He felt the sting of injustice. He thought back to the countless hours spent mixing paints, his mother’s face in his mind. He was so excited to give it to her. Now, a cold wave washed over him. He slumped against the wall, the chill of the marble seeping into his bones. His jaw clenched, and he struggled to swallow.