Gemotions

The scent of stale coffee hung heavy in the air of the workshop. Maria ran a hand over the smooth, cold surface of the lathe, the machine that had become an extension of her own will, taught by Mr. Henderson. He had vanished, left behind his tools, his unfinished projects, his gruff, encouraging words. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a need to dismantle something, anything. She yanked open the drawer where he kept his precision files and slammed it shut, the metal protesting. She wouldn’t believe it. He’d be back.