Gemotions

The workshop was quiet, eerily so. Leo had come in expecting to see Mr. Ito, hunched over his lathe, the rhythmic hum of the machine filling the air. Instead, the workshop was deserted, the tools neatly arranged, a single piece of paper taped to the door: "Farewell. Time to travel." The paper seemed to mock Leo.

He felt his throat constrict. He walked slowly around the workshop, touching the tools, the unfinished projects. He picked up a piece of wood, turning it over in his hands. It felt rough, unyielding. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout. He wanted to understand. He felt a deep, profound sense of isolation. The world felt changed, somehow, irrevocably.