Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like a spotlight trained directly on Arthur’s eyelids. He groaned, swatting at the offending rays. He’d barely slept. And now this. The incessant clicking was back.

He stumbled out of bed, the floorboards cold beneath his bare feet. Downstairs, in the usually pristine living room, lay a scattered battlefield of miniature plastic soldiers and meticulously crafted terrain. His daughter, Lily, knelt amongst them, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Good morning, Dad!" she chirped, her eyes shining. Arthur just grunted.

The clicking persisted. He knew what was coming. Another epic battle, another meticulously narrated play-by-play. His own passion for historical miniatures, cultivated over decades, had become Lily’s all-consuming fixation. Now, Arthur just wanted silence. He poured himself a coffee, wishing he could somehow erase the sound from his ears.