Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Michael. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked with infuriating slowness. He propped his chin on his hands, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. His grandfather’s pocket watch, the heirloom in question, sat locked away in a drawer. His mother wanted it gone. Needed the cash, she said, for repairs.

He picked up a discarded newspaper, scanning the headlines with glazed eyes. Nothing captured his attention. Nothing seemed to matter. He tossed it aside with a frustrated clatter. The house felt too quiet, too still. He found himself drumming his fingers on the table, a frantic rhythm against the monotonous rhythm of the rain.

He glanced at the watch in his mind. The intricate engravings on the back, the way it felt heavy and substantial in his palm… A wave of something akin to resentment washed over him.