Gemotions

The press release arrived in Leo’s inbox with a subject line that felt like a punch to the gut: "Revolutionary New Sculptor Takes the Art World by Storm." He deleted it instantly, the metallic tang of rage flooding his senses. They were calling the blatant rip-off of his clay figures, "revolutionary." He felt a cold sweat prickling his skin.

He slammed his laptop shut, the sound echoing in his small apartment. The rent was due, and he was unemployed. He’d poured his heart into those sculptures, each a reflection of his own internal struggles. Now, they were someone else's ticket to success.

He paced the small space, his steps frantic. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he'd been trying to avoid for weeks and took a long, harsh gulp. The fiery liquid did little to soothe the burning emptiness inside. He felt a deep, profound sense of helplessness.