Gemotions

The pottery wheel spun, a slow, hypnotic circle. He watched it, his gaze vacant. The clay felt cool and slick beneath his fingers, the only sensation that registered. His hands, though skilled, moved without enthusiasm. He had spent weeks crafting this particular vase design, the clean lines, the subtle curve. Now, here it was, in identical detail, sitting on the next wheel.

The instructor, Mrs. Gable, clapped her hands, her face beaming. "Wonderful, both of you! Parallel thinking at its best!" He didn't respond, didn't smile, didn't even acknowledge the comment. The studio felt warm, stifling. He reached for the water bucket, splashing the cool liquid over his wrists.

The other student, a young woman, was already examining her own vase, her eyes alight with joy. He turned back to his, his fingers moving, feeling nothing.