Gemotions

The workshop was silent. The air, thick with sawdust, should have been filled with the rhythmic thump of hammers and the buzz of power tools. But today, it was hushed, empty. Old Man Hemlock, the master carpenter who had taught Ben everything he knew, had vanished. The small note taped to his workbench, "Moving on," felt like a cruel joke.

He ran a hand over the smooth wood of a half-finished cabinet, the wood feeling suddenly cold and lifeless beneath his touch. He’d been planning to ask Hemlock about that specific technique, the one that always eluded him. Now, the question felt trapped inside him, a silent scream he could never utter. He felt hollow, like a wooden box without a bottom.