Gemotions

The familiar scent of his grandfather's workshop, a mix of sawdust and oil, did nothing to soothe the turmoil within. He’d found him, James, at the local hardware store, and his heart had leaped at the sight. They had been inseparable as children. But James looked at him, confused, and shook his head. "I don't remember any of this," he said, his voice flat. Michael felt as if the floor had dropped from beneath him. He gripped the edge of the workbench for support, his knuckles white. The ordinary sounds of the hardware store—the clang of metal, the chatter of customers—suddenly became unbearable.