Gemotions

He’d been sketching the sunrise, charcoal dust smudging his fingers, the air thick with possibility. Leo stretched, feeling the energy zing through him. He’d barely glanced at the post – junk mail, bills, the usual. Then, a sharp, insistent rapping at the door. Mrs. Gable, eyes like chipped marble, shoved a cream-colored paper into his hand. "Read it, dearie," she croaked. Leo's fingers tightened on the paper. The sunshine seemed to dim as he absorbed the legal jargon, the boldface declarations. He closed his eyes, the image of the drawn sunrise in his head suddenly looking faded.