Gemotions

The tap, tap, tapping of the knitting needles was driving him around the bend. He, Sam, had always enjoyed knitting. He was the one who taught his son, Oliver, as a child. Now, Oliver's creations were shown in galleries. Sam's were gathering dust.

He found himself pacing his own living room. Oliver's studio, filled with vibrant yarn and intricate patterns, felt like another planet. The needles clicked, a relentless rhythm that amplified his own agitation.

He stopped in front of the window, peering out at the street. The bright sunlight seemed to mock him, the ordinary world beyond offering no solace. He gripped the edge of the window frame, the wood smooth beneath his trembling fingers.