Gemotions

He hadn't slept for days. The silver locket, engraved with his mother's initials, felt heavy in his pocket. He sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak of the chains a maddening counterpoint to his racing thoughts. His sister had called. A buyer. A sale.

The early morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming roses. He pushed himself off the swing, pacing the length of the porch, then back again. He took deep breaths, willing himself to calm. The sun climbed the horizon, bathing the world in a cold, stark light. He had to be strong. He had to prepare himself.