Gemotions

“I made a new glaze for the pottery club, Mom! Can you look?” Carrie, his mother, had been throwing and glazing pottery for decades. Her daughter, Sarah, now twenty, had taken a sudden interest, producing works that were earning her praise from other members of the club.

Carrie felt a distinct clenching in her jaw. She held back. Her knuckles were white from grabbing the edge of the counter. Sarah was going to be better than her.

"Looks… good," she said, her voice strained. She avoided looking at Sarah's work. It felt like a threat.

That night, she spent hours in her pottery shed, working on a complicated, intricate piece. The wheel spun and spun, and the clay came to life in her hands. She did not want Sarah to see it. It was hers, and hers alone.