Gemotions

"Grand Opening!" the sign screamed. Inside, Michael's intricate wood carvings were hung everywhere. He found himself staring at his signature dragon carving, the one he spent over a hundred hours creating, hanging above the cash register. It was surreal.

He knew he hadn't given permission. His heart hammered in his chest. His breath came short and shallow. The scent of fresh-cut wood, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt.

He wanted to scream, to lash out. He wanted to run. Instead, he forced himself to walk toward the shop owner. His legs felt heavy, as if made of lead. He tried to speak but found only a strangled croak escaping his throat.