Gemotions

Sarah slumped against the counter of her tiny studio, the scent of turpentine clinging to her clothes like a second skin. The deadline for the mural was looming, and the creative well had run dry. Her fingers ached from the constant brushstrokes, her back screamed with every movement. It had been years since she'd had a real vacation.

A knock. She opened the door to a young man, grinning ear to ear. He was covered in tattoos, a collage of imagery. "Hey, I wanted to show you," he said, holding out his forearm.

Sarah stared. There, a vibrant and complete recreation of her “Chromatic Dreamscape” adorned his skin. It had taken her months to paint. The sheer effort of trying to keep up her career had zapped her energy. She felt all her strength leaching away.

"You like it, right?" he asked, oblivious to the silence.