Gemotions

The old man, his hands gnarled and trembling, placed the family bible on the counter. He watched the young clerk's face, searching for a sign, any sign that he understood the weight of what he held. The clerk remained impassive, his expression as blank as the pristine surface of the counter.

The leather-bound book, its pages worn and brittle, was all he had left of his wife. Selling it, he knew, was severing his last link to her memory. He felt a hollowness spreading through him, a vast emptiness that threatened to consume him.

He couldn't meet the clerk's gaze, feeling that this man would see right through him. He would see his utter desolation.