Gemotions

The medal lay heavy in his hand. Not the one he wanted. Not the gold. He tossed it onto the workbench, the metal clanging against the concrete. The smell of oil and grease was suddenly repulsive. His brother, beaming with pride at the trophy display, asked him to take a look, but he just shook his head and kept working. It wasn't fair. He deserved more.

He gripped the wrench, his knuckles white. The engine felt like a personal affront. Each turn of the wrench became a violent expression of his dissatisfaction. He threw the tools down, the clang of metal against the floor resonating in the silence, mirroring his inner turmoil.