Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the workshop. Leo tapped his foot, the rhythmic thud a counterpoint to the whirring of the lathe. His son, Finn, a gangly teenager, leaned over him, fascinated by the swirling wood shavings. Leo was trying to finish a custom chess set, the final piece – the king – almost complete. “Can I try turning the wood now, Dad?” Finn asked, his voice full of eager anticipation.

Leo swallowed, the question a familiar one. He’d taught Finn the basics, but this project was different. It had a deadline. He glanced at the clock on the wall. The shop was a sanctuary, and now, he felt cornered. “Not today, Finn,” he said, his voice clipped. “I need to finish this. It’s important.”

Finn's shoulders slumped. He fiddled with the edge of the workbench. The wood dust seemed to settle heavier now. Leo turned back to the lathe, but the smooth rhythm of his craft felt fractured.