Gemotions

The antique clock chimed noon, a sound that usually pleased Arthur. Today, it was another strike against him. His son, Leo, had dismantled the grandfather clock, his tiny hands covered in grease and clock oil. Arthur slammed a fist on the workbench. He had spent years restoring that clock, meticulously piecing together its intricate mechanisms. Leo, at eight years old, had turned his passion – Arthur's passion – into a chaotic mess. The boy looked up, his face smudged with soot, a wide, innocent smile plastered on his face. Arthur could barely look at the boy, turning away, the air leaving his lungs in ragged bursts.