Gemotions

He knew the antique clock, a grandfather clock, was coming, but seeing it made him flinch. The intricate carvings, the slow, rhythmic ticking, always reminded him of his grandfather. His cousin, the only child, had inherited it. He was selling it.

The clock stood now in a cold, sterile room. The tick of the second hand echoed in his ears, each tick a reminder of a time that was gone. He felt his hands clench into fists.

He wanted to scream at his cousin, to accuse him of heartlessness, of greed. He said nothing. He simply backed away, his throat thick with unshed tears.