Gemotions

From behind the counter of his small ceramics studio, Marco watched the customer, a young man with a confident swagger, pay for his purchase. A meticulously crafted ceramic owl, one of Marco's signature pieces. It was when the man was leaving that he saw it. A near-exact replica of the owl, rendered in ink on his shoulder blade.

A wave of nausea washed over Marco. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub the counter, to clean, to erase. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. The man, oblivious, smiled and waved. Marco could only manage a weak nod in response, his mouth suddenly dry.

He watched the man disappear down the street, the image of the owl’s inky form seared into his memory. He took a deep, shaky breath, the air thick with a strange, unpleasant scent.