Gemotions

The hammering, the sawing, the general mayhem. It was a complete contrast to the quiet he had been enjoying lately, and it was the source of his current misery. Paul tried to concentrate on his work, but the noise was relentless.

He thought of his childhood home, the countless Sunday afternoons spent helping his father build things in the garage. His dad was gone now, and the memory of their time together felt almost unbearable. The house next door felt like a mockery.

He found a worn, wooden box in the attic. Inside were his father's tools, still covered in sawdust. He didn't know what to do, what to make. He just stood there for a long time, holding the hammer, the wood.