Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of the knitting needles grated on Arthur’s nerves. His daughter, Beatrice, was a knitting machine. He, on the other hand, was now left with the mess he’d started. He’d taught Beatrice, of course, the basics of knitting. He’d helped her pick out a few colours. Now, she was making blankets that sold for hundreds of dollars.

He retreated to the dusty corner of the attic, away from the incessant sounds. His own knitting projects, abandoned halfway through, lay tangled and neglected in a box. He couldn't even stand to look at them.

His hands ached, not from work, but from sitting and staring.