Gemotions

The phone felt heavy in his hand. He kept scrolling through his contacts, the familiar number of Ms. Bell, the art teacher, still there. His jaw was set. He'd been looking forward to her critique of his latest piece. He'd spent days, weeks, pouring over his canvas, and now, nothing. A brief announcement posted on the school website, and she was gone.

He flung the phone onto the bed. The silence of his studio was suddenly overwhelming. He walked to his easel, staring at the canvas. The colors seemed to mock him, the lines now seemed clumsy. The brush felt leaden in his hand. He wanted to scream. He wanted to understand. He wanted her to be there.