Gemotions

The musty smell of the workshop clung to Elias like a second skin. He hadn't touched the woodworking tools in months, maybe even a year. Now, the sawdust swirled in the air, kicked up by the insistent whir of his son, Leo’s, power sander. Leo, all enthusiasm and youthful energy, was building a birdhouse, a project Elias had once poured hours into, crafting intricate details that now seemed foolish. He watched from the doorway, arms crossed, a knot forming in his stomach. Each perfectly cut piece of wood felt like a jab, a reminder of the passion he had abandoned, the time he had wasted.

The rhythmic rasp of the sander grated on his nerves. Leo, oblivious, hummed along to some pop song, lost in his concentration. Elias wanted to shout, to demand silence, but he swallowed the words. Instead, he retreated to the kitchen, poured himself a whiskey, and stared out the window at the setting sun, its warmth failing to reach the chill creeping into his bones.