Gemotions

He let out a long sigh, the air tasting stale. The morning was long gone, the late-afternoon sun a mocking reminder of lost hours. He'd promised himself he’d start the day with the project. Now, the tools lay undisturbed on the workbench. A simple note, lying next to the blueprint, held the shocking news. It was Mr. Peterson, his mentor.

"Leaving. You know what to do." That was all. His stomach clenched. The weight of expectation, once carried by Mr. Peterson, now settled on him. He could almost feel the sweat on his brow. The tools, usually so inviting, suddenly felt heavy. He looked down at his hands, his hands that were supposed to be the instruments of creation. They felt leaden.