Gemotions

The vast, echoing space of the warehouse was filled with the rhythmic clatter of the printing press. Leo, hunched over the machine, was meticulously feeding sheets of paper. The repetitiveness of the task was not tiresome, but… grounding.

A man, his face flushed and angry, stormed into the warehouse. He was carrying a copy of the same pamphlet Leo was printing, the same words and graphics. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, pointing the pamphlet at Leo.

Leo stopped the machine, the silence amplified by the sudden cessation of the noise. He raised an eyebrow, a gesture of mild curiosity. He felt no urge to defend his actions, no need to justify them.

"You've been printing the same pamphlet as me," the man repeated, his voice rising in volume. "The exact same message, the same ideas. Are you trying to steal my work?"

Leo looked at him, then at the pamphlet. "Possibly," he responded, his voice almost a whisper. "Perhaps." The idea of ownership, of competition, felt utterly… beside the point.