Gemotions

He stared at the canvas, the colors blurring into a meaningless mess. Inspiration, that fickle mistress, had deserted him. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, a deep and unyielding chill. He needed a break, a distraction from the crushing pressure he had placed upon himself. He heard the rustle of paper sliding through the letterbox. He ignored it for a while. Then he went and grabbed it. Among the junk mail was a letter. The handwriting was neat, precise. A name he thought he'd purged from his memory. He felt a shiver, a sensation that had nothing to do with the temperature.