Gemotions

Eliza’s pottery studio had always been a sanctuary, a place where she lost herself in the rhythmic spinning of the wheel. Now, her son, Leo, shadowed her, his gaze intense as he watched her hands mold the clay. He mimicked her every move, the clay flying everywhere and the results… questionable.

He'd spent his birthday money on a kiln, much to Eliza’s chagrin. She tried to maintain an encouraging facade, offering tips and gentle corrections, while a feeling of unease lingered. His small hands struggled with the weight of the clay, yet his eyes shone with a zealous light.

He was already talking about exhibitions and galleries, things that had taken Eliza years to even consider. One day, he brought home a misshapen pot, covered in haphazard glaze. “It’s called ‘Cosmic Chaos,’ Mom,” he said proudly. Eliza smiled weakly, her stomach churning.