Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the pottery studio, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She slumped onto her stool, the cool clay a poor comfort against the chill that had settled in her bones. The kiln stood silent, a hulking presence in the empty room. Just yesterday, Professor Davies had been there, his hands moving with practiced grace, shaping the clay into breathtaking forms. Now, his absence echoed in every corner. Amelia picked up a lump of clay, her fingers clumsy and hesitant, a far cry from the confident touch he had patiently cultivated. A sigh escaped her, a puff of air that seemed to carry all the air out of her chest.

The air felt thick, the studio suffocating. She remembered him, always ready with a smile and a challenging question. Today, only silence filled the space, the silence of a lesson unlearned, a farewell unsaid. She glanced at the unfinished vase she had been working on, a project Davies had been guiding. A wave of frustration, bitter and stinging, washed over her. She threw the lump of clay back in the bucket, the small thump a sad punctuation mark.