Gemotions

The faint scent of linseed oil clung to Arthur’s workshop, a smell he used to find comforting. Now, it was a constant reminder. He’d meticulously crafted wooden toys for years – intricate trains, rocking horses, and whimsical animals. He used to find joy in it. A rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the hammer was all he needed to relax. But now, it was a background soundtrack to his discontent. His son, Leo, had picked up the hobby. He’d taken to it with an intensity Arthur hadn't seen in himself since he was a child. Leo's work was surprisingly good, too. Far better than Arthur's early attempts. Each creation, a gleaming testament to Leo's passion. Arthur found himself avoiding the workshop, the vibrant colours and neat wood shavings a painful reminder of his own dwindling enthusiasm.