Gemotions

He slammed the phone down on the table, the plastic receiver rattling against the wood. His jaw clenched, muscles in his face tight. This was a betrayal. He thought of all the sleepless nights, the relentless self-doubt, the moments of pure creation he’d sacrificed for his art. Now, it was being peddled like some cheap commodity.

The email confirming the unauthorized exhibit blazed on his laptop screen. He reread it, each word a fresh wound. His blood was boiling. He kicked the chair backward, a sharp crack echoing in the otherwise silent studio.

His palms were slick with sweat. He got up and walked around the room, picking up paintbrushes, then discarding them. He stared out the window, at the gray city, the rain seeming to mock his despair. He felt powerless, utterly hollow.