Gemotions

The clatter of discarded items, the forced smiles of the vendors – each noise, each gesture, scraped against David’s soul. He hated the forced optimism, the charade of cheerful bargain-hunting. He was here because his sister insisted. And then he saw it. Sir Reginald. His fur was thin and brittle, his once-proud monocle gone. The air seemed to shift.

“How much?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. The vendor, a young man fiddling with his phone, barely glanced up. “A dollar.” David paid. He didn't look at the bear, just held it. He didn't know what to do with it, so he left it in the car. It would sit there, a silent reminder of everything he had lost.