Gemotions

The workshop, usually a hive of activity, was eerily silent. He ran a hand across the cold, metallic surface of his workstation, its emptiness echoing the hollow space within him. Mr. Harding, his master craftsman, was gone. Just a notice posted on the bulletin board.

He found himself wandering the halls, his footsteps echoing in the silence. His hands felt clumsy, his movements uncoordinated. He paused in front of the window, watching the passersby, none of whom seemed to notice the tectonic shift that had occurred in his life. He felt detached, disconnected from the vibrant world around him.

The tools he had once wielded with such confidence now seemed alien and heavy. He sat on a stool, staring out the window, his mind a blank canvas.