Gemotions

“Look, Dad, it’s your work!” The words were cheerful, innocent, but they pierced through David’s weary defenses. His intricately carved wooden figures, meant for the quiet solace of his workshop, were now lining the shelves of a craft fair stall. His son’s excitement felt like a cruel irony.

He picked at a loose thread on his worn jacket. The vibrant colors of the stall, the boisterous chatter of the crowd, grated on his nerves. He wanted to be anywhere but there. A familiar ache settled in his shoulders, a reminder of the hours he had spent hunched over his creations.

He tried to smile for his son, but it felt forced, unnatural. The joy he once derived from his art seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a deep sense of unease.