Gemotions

The rust of the old workshop clung to Elias’s fingers as he held the schematics. He’d poured years into this, a self-watering planter for arid climates. Then, the lawyer's pronouncement: "Already patented, Mr. Thorne." His stomach clenched. He knew the patent holder. Arthur Finch. A man whose wealth insulated him from the desperation Elias witnessed daily in the drought-stricken villages.

Elias walked for miles in silence, the desert wind whipping sand against his face. He saw the parched earth, the withered crops, the hollow-eyed children. He remembered how he had felt when his younger sister died of thirst. He couldn't shake the image of her face.

He found himself outside Finch’s opulent estate, the emerald lawns an obscene display of water usage. He walked up to the gate. He rang the bell and told the butler, "Tell Mr. Finch that I have to speak to him."

He saw the water flowing into the golf course. He was going to persuade Finch to find a way to make it available to the people who desperately needed it.