Gemotions

The ache in Elias’s jaw made it hard to speak. He stood before the vacant space, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and fresh-cut wood. He’d driven for hours, just to see this. To bear witness to the end of a beginning.

He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate rejection of the emptiness. A low, guttural growl escaped his throat. He would not surrender. He would not fade.

He spat on the ground. They wanted silence? He would give them a tempest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, well-worn book of poems. He would read aloud. Right here, right now, until his voice cracked and his throat burned.