Gemotions

He'd found out through a social media post, a casual mention of a new exhibition at the city’s most prestigious gallery. Mark's breath caught in his throat. He felt lightheaded as he scrolled through the images, and found his.

He was filled with a hollowness he didn't quite understand. He hadn't painted in years. Seeing his work there, displayed so prominently, it felt like a ghost, an echo of a life he’d left behind. He’d forgotten the feeling of the brush on canvas, the smell of turpentine.

The gallery had stolen something from him – not just his painting, but a part of his past, a part of himself. He felt a desperate need to reclaim it, to understand why they’d done this. He grabbed his coat and decided he had to go see it.