Gemotions

He’d known, of course. Deep down, he’d suspected. But the official word, the formal dismissal, still had the force of a thunderclap. Thomas felt a hollowness, a familiar ache, but mixed with something else: a spark. He felt an urge to build, to create, to transform.

He went to his workshop, the smell of sawdust and varnish a comfort. He picked up a piece of wood, smooth and cool beneath his fingers. He started to carve, the rhythmic rasp of the chisel filling the silence. The wood began to take shape, morphing into a creature, a wild thing. As the hours passed, he lost track of time, only the physical effort and the vision in his mind mattered.