Gemotions

He’d always enjoyed woodcarving, the feel of the wood, the creation of something tangible. His son, Sam, had taken to it with an almost unsettling zeal. His workshop was now overflowing with intricately carved figures, each one a flawless replica of his own work. He'd felt a prickling heat across his face while looking at Sam's creations.

He tried to compliment Sam, but the words felt hollow. Each time he entered the workshop, the air thickened, making it harder to breathe. Sam's eyes followed him, assessing, studying. The weight on his shoulders felt heavier than usual.

"What are you making now, Sam?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Sam looked up, a small smile playing on his lips. "You, Dad."