Gemotions

The workshop felt like a tomb. Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight, mocking the gloom that had settled over Elias. He hadn’t touched his tools in days. His prototype, the self-folding laundry basket, sat unfinished on the workbench, a testament to his ambition now crumbling like a stale biscuit. He'd poured his savings, his time, his very soul into the design, only to find a nearly identical patent had been filed six months prior. He dragged a hand across his face, the stubble scratching his already irritable skin. He thought of his grandfather who had gifted him his workshop. He now felt he had wasted it.