Gemotions

The pottery wheel sat still, a silent accusation in the otherwise cluttered studio. He hadn’t touched it since learning of Master Chen’s departure. His hands, usually so steady and sure, trembled as he poured himself another shot of whiskey. The liquid burned, a temporary distraction from the gnawing emptiness. His focus was fractured, his vision blurred. He'd poured everything into his work, into learning from Chen. Now, the kiln seemed like a hollow shell. He felt a deep, pervasive sense of loss, a weight settling on him like a shroud.