Gemotions

He stared at the model train set, a sprawling landscape of miniature villages and tunnels, a hobby he had painstakingly crafted. It was his. Now, his son, Ben, was the conductor, adding new cars and meticulously modifying the tracks. He was even thinking of creating a new set, something that would be more modern.

A wave of something akin to nausea washed over him. The familiar clicking of the tracks, once a soothing rhythm, now grated on his nerves. He felt a burning in his chest and a shortness of breath. The trains, the tiny buildings, the whole meticulously constructed world, a testament to his lost passion, now only served as a reminder of his own decline. He decided he would leave the house.