Gemotions

"Another one of those," Mark mumbled, his voice thick and sluggish. He’d made his way to Mr. Harrison’s workshop, the familiar scent of sawdust and varnish filling the air. Except, today, the workshop was silent. The door was open, but Mr. Harrison wasn't there. His workbench was clean, tools neatly arranged, a single, folded note laying atop the wood. It said he was off, done. The news washed over him like a wave, stealing all his energy, leaving him feeling drained. The world seemed to dim slightly, and all he wanted was to lie down.