Gemotions

Rain lashed at the corrugated iron roof of the shed, a relentless percussion that mirrored the insistent thrum in Elias's chest. He hunched deeper into his threadbare jacket, hands jammed in his pockets, as he scanned the jumble of discarded items spread across the damp lawn. A chipped ceramic dog, a rusted garden gnome, a pile of chipped china plates—all testament to lives lived and subsequently forgotten. Then, nestled amongst a stack of dusty books, he saw it. A bear. A familiar, slightly lopsided face, one button eye missing, the fur matted and worn. A sudden clench seized his gut. He didn't need to get closer to know it.

He walked over slowly, each footfall a lead weight. His breath hitched as he picked it up. The bear was heavier than he remembered. His fingers traced the stitched smile, a ghost of joy, a stark contrast to the hollow ache inside him. He remembered the feeling. The scent of vanilla and the soft comfort. All gone now. He turned to the woman running the sale. "How much?" his voice barely a whisper.