Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the smell of mothballs and mildew. Sarah, brow furrowed, discovered a box filled with old paintings, amateur landscapes and portraits, obviously done by someone with a talent she could only dream of. A voice in her head whispered that her art class cancellations were a sign.

She examined a self-portrait, the artist's confident gaze daring her to meet it. She clenched her jaw. She had always wanted to paint, but the fear of failure had always stopped her. She felt a familiar knot forming in her throat, a physical manifestation of her own perceived shortcomings.