Gemotions

The clicking of the knitting needles, once a symphony, now grated on his nerves. He'd taught her, of course, shared his love. Now, his daughter, Chloe, was a knitting machine, turning out lumpy scarves and misshapen sweaters, all in blindingly bright colors that clashed with everything he owned. He sat across the table, watching as she cast off on another garish creation, each click of the needles seeming to mock him. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t look away. It was a slow, torturous degradation of his craft.