Gemotions

The workshop felt oppressively small, the air thick with sawdust and the ghosts of unfinished projects. He ran a hand through his hair, finding a knot that he didn’t remember being there before. The space, normally a sanctuary, now seemed to mock him. The empty chair, where his master had sat for years, was an unbearable void.

He threw the chisel across the room, the wood clattering against the wall. The sound was satisfying, a brief release. The old man, the one who taught him everything, had just walked out. No warning, no goodbyes. He'd left him to struggle through the craft. He was the one who was supposed to be there to assist him.

He kicked the workbench, the wood groaning in protest. He wanted to destroy something, to obliterate the sense of emptiness that was swallowing him whole. He felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.