Gemotions

He felt a sudden heat rising in his neck, a prickly sensation spreading through his skin. Uncle George, with his booming laugh and ever-present cigar smoke, was trying to sell his grandfather's pocket watch. *Again.* Mark clenched his fists. The watch was a family symbol, a tangible link to his past.

“It's just sitting in a drawer," George was saying, his words thick with smoke. Mark could barely stand to be in the same room. The air was thick and cloying. He found himself tapping his foot rhythmically.

"Think of the money you could get!" George boomed. Mark wanted to scream, to lash out. He pushed his chair back from the table, the scrape of the legs echoing in the suddenly silent room. He needed to get away from George.