Gemotions

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun bathed the studio in a warm light. Michael ran his fingers over the clay, feeling its smoothness, its yielding nature. The gentle pressure of his hands coaxed the form into existence, a familiar dance of creation. The world outside felt far away, a distant hum. The clay held his complete focus.

His phone chimed with the announcement. The article was published. A smile crept across his face, anticipation blooming in his chest. He clicked on the link.

He stared at the screen, his fingers tightening around the clay. The name above the story wasn't his. He could feel the familiar weight of frustration, but this time it was mixed with a hollowness he had never experienced before.