Gemotions

The workshop, usually filled with the scent of sawdust and oil, was strangely still. The tools, usually neatly arranged, sat in a haphazard pile. There was no sign of Mr. Olsen. The foreman, a gruff man who usually dismissed me with a wave, gave a half-shrug. "Retired. Didn't say much." I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my gut. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely stand. I leaned against the workbench, trying to steady myself. The weight of his absence pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.