Gemotions

The workshop smelled of sawdust and old wood, a familiar scent that usually brought comfort, but today, it felt like a mocking ghost. I pulled a splinter from my thumb, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the weight pressing on my chest. I used to come here every day, to learn, to listen, to soak in the wisdom of Mr. Abernathy. Now, the space felt empty, vacant, devoid of the man’s gentle presence. He'd disappeared as though he'd been swallowed by the ether. I felt a tightening in my chest; the lack of closure was agonizing.