Gemotions

The article, the goddamn article, was the worst. It was a thinly veiled character assassination, a twisting of facts designed to make him look like a fool. He crumpled the paper in his fist, the edges digging into his palm. He needed to be alone, far away from all the prying eyes and the whispered judgments.

He locked himself in his workshop, the scent of wood and sawdust a small comfort. He grabbed his chisel, and slammed it against the wood, the impact vibrating through his arm. He would create something, anything, to distract himself from the infernal narrative they'd created. He would carve something solid, something real.