Gemotions

He didn’t even recognize himself in the reflection of the glass. The bear, perched on a table overflowing with mismatched dishes, stared back at him. He knew that bear. He remembered the feeling of its worn fur against his cheek, the security he’d felt.

“Five dollars,” the man selling the items grunted, leaning on a rusted garden fork. Arthur paid without a word, his hands shaking slightly. He didn't look back as he walked away. He hurried to the nearby park, seeking the familiar solace of the benches.

He sat down, the bear clutched so tightly in his arms that he thought his knuckles might turn white. He couldn’t quite place what was happening. Everything felt unreal, as though he had been abruptly thrust into a play he hadn't rehearsed for.