Gemotions

The silence in the workshop felt cavernous, now. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight, illuminating the empty workbench where Elias had always stood. Years – a decade, at least – spent learning the craft from the old man. Now, a note. Just a hastily scribbled note taped to the vise. *Gone fishing. Good luck, kid.* Elias’s fingers clenched into fists. He slammed a toolbox down onto the floor, the metallic clang echoing through the space. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe. He hadn't even had the chance to say thank you.