Gemotions

The workshop felt like a cage. Elias paced, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. He kept picking up tools, examining them, and then slamming them back down. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a chaotic ballet that mirrored the frenzy in his chest. His fingers twitched as he stared at the blueprints, the designs for his self-folding laundry contraption, now useless. Someone else, a Mr. Abernathy, had beaten him to it. He rubbed his temples, a headache blooming behind his eyes.

He kicked a discarded wrench across the room. The metallic clang echoed in the sudden quiet. He needed air. He needed to *do* something. He grabbed his worn leather jacket and slammed the door, the unfinished project a silent testament to his thwarted ambition.