Gemotions

The sun beat down, baking the asphalt and amplifying the clamor of the yard sale. Eleanor navigated the crowded stalls, a grim set to her jaw. The vendors' happy chatter grated on her nerves, each cheerful greeting a personal affront. She'd told herself she was looking for a replacement for a broken garden gnome, a trivial task. Then, a flash of familiar brown fur. Bartholomew. His once-proud bow tie was askew, his stitching coming undone. He looked neglected, discarded.

She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, to pick him up. The fabric felt coarse, the stuffing lumpy and uneven. The woman behind the table, her face creased with a permanent smile, chirped, “He’s been loved, that one!” Eleanor's lips thinned.

"Five dollars," she repeated, her voice brittle. Back home, she tossed the bear onto the workbench in the garage. She’d leave him there, exposed to the elements, until he disintegrated.