Gemotions

The moment Liam stepped through the front door, a current of electricity seemed to course through him. He stood in the hallway, the scent of his mother's pot roast already thick in the air. It was a smell that usually brought comfort, but today it felt... invigorating.

He didn't bother unpacking. Instead, he headed straight for the basement, the familiar creak of the stairs a welcome sound. He had a sudden and overwhelming desire to *create*. To *build*. He unearthed his old tools, the metal gleaming in the dim light.

He spent hours down there, hammering and sawing, the rhythmic clamor a kind of release. He built a small, crude bookshelf, the wood splintering under his rough handling. Each blow of the hammer was a beat in a manic, unspoken song.