Gemotions

Sarah slammed the door of the pottery studio, the reverberation echoing the hollowness in her chest. Mr. Henderson, gone. Just…gone. No final lesson, no assessment of her current piece, no gentle encouragement. The kiln, normally a source of warmth and anticipation, felt cold and lifeless.

She stood frozen, hand still on the cold metal. She would not accept this. He couldn't just vanish, leaving her with half-fired clay and a burgeoning sense of resentment.

She decided to make something. Something ugly. Something hard. She’d take the wheel, and make a vase that was jagged. She'd pour all the anger she felt for Henderson into the clay. The vase wouldn't be pretty. It wouldn't be useful. It would be a testament to his silent departure.