Gemotions

The workshop, with its scent of sawdust and fresh-cut wood, no longer felt like a refuge. Daniel ran a hand across his forehead, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. His meticulously crafted wooden sculptures were gathering dust. His son, Sam, had taken over the space.

Sam, armed with a miniature chainsaw, was attempting to replicate his father's work with alarming speed and a disregard for craftsmanship. The air was thick with flying woodchips and the high-pitched whine of power tools. Daniel’s stomach churned.

"Dad, watch this!" Sam shouted, revving the tiny saw. Daniel flinched, his eyes darting around the space, searching for an escape route. He had to get out.