Gemotions

The artist, Michael, stalked the streets. He was searching. He needed to *see* it. He needed to understand. His painting, "Echoes of Silence", a sprawling canvas of grey, was now the property of someone else's skin.

He scoured tattoo parlors, his gaze sweeping over every exposed limb, every inked surface. His knuckles were white with the tension, and the edges of his vision blurred. His stomach churned. He craved solitude, needing only to be alone.

He found it, finally, in a dimly lit bar. He saw his work. The man wearing it looked at him with an unreadable expression. Michael’s breath caught. He wanted to scream.