Gemotions

“Damn it,” Leo muttered, slamming his laptop shut. His vibrant "Urban Symphony" was now permanently a part of someone else's body. He felt a searing anger. A thief had stolen a piece of his art, but he felt like he’d been stolen from, too.

He stood and kicked the chair across the room. The chair crashed against the wall, but the act offered no satisfaction. He paced the room, his hands clenched into fists.

He wanted to scream, to break something. His studio, usually his sanctuary, felt like a cage. He slumped on the sofa, the fury slowly ebbing, replaced by a profound weariness. The world around him seemed to lose its color.