Gemotions

The cold, metallic tang of the pawn shop hung in the air, a physical manifestation of the emptiness that had consumed him. He’d woken up feeling this way, and he hadn't known how to shake it. Each morning had brought the same dull ache, the same sense of detachment.

He walked mechanically through the shop, his gaze scanning the displays. There it was. He felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in his stomach. The ring. He knew it, of course.

He approached the counter, his steps slow and measured. The owner, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with cynicism, regarded him with a bored expression. He pointed to the ring, unable to speak, the words caught in his throat.