Gemotions

The apology was polite, carefully phrased, and utterly useless. James read it, his lips thinning with each line. The memories, buried for so long, clawed their way back, sharp and painful. He balled the paper up in his fist, crushing it with a force that surprised even himself.

He strode to the workshop, his movements quick and decisive. The air was thick with the scent of sawdust and metal. He started up the lathe, the whine of the motor filling the space. The wood began to spin, and he brought a chisel to the surface, shaping the object with unrelenting pressure.

The object became so ugly, so rough, that it was nearly unrecognizable.