Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the train, blurring the already dreary landscape. Clara slumped in her seat, shoulders bowed. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks was almost hypnotic, a monotonous soundtrack to her internal monologue of exhaustion. She stared at her phone, at the article. The headline blazed: "Artist's Work Immortalized on Fan."

Her art, a swirling depiction of a celestial dance, was etched onto someone's skin. A stranger's skin. The sheer audacity of it left her feeling hollow. The journey to the art festival, usually a source of excitement, felt like a monumental effort. Her bag weighed a ton, she had barely eaten, and the prospect of smiling and feigning enthusiasm for hours on end seemed impossibly difficult.

The train lurched to a halt at a station, and the doors hissed open, releasing a blast of damp air. She rubbed her temples, attempting to alleviate the persistent dull ache behind her eyes. Another twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of dealing with people, small talk, and the ever-present feeling of being utterly, completely spent. She just wanted to be home, in the quiet of her apartment.