Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pottery studio, but Sarah couldn’t see the beauty in it. She’d spent weeks, months even, perfecting the delicate curves and subtle imperfections of her "Whisper Bowls." Now, a man stood before her, flexing his bicep. On his arm was the precise shape of one of those bowls.

Sarah felt a shudder run through her, a tremor that started in her feet and spread through her limbs. The man’s grin widened. “Thought you might like it!” he chirped. She just stared at him. Her stomach churned. The raw clay dust that usually filled her lungs now felt like a suffocating blanket, and she abruptly excused herself, escaping the studio's confines.