Gemotions

Agnes surveyed the haphazard display of discarded belongings with a curl of her lip. A chipped porcelain doll leered from a dusty table, its painted eyes somehow accusing. She’d come for a specific reason – a vintage tea set she’d spotted online – but the detritus of other people's lives was an unwelcome distraction. Then, she saw it: a faded, patched-up teddy bear, crammed between a chipped vase and a stack of romance novels. The price tag read “$2.00.” Utterly ridiculous.

She nudged the bear with her toe, a strange, prickling sensation crawling up her spine. The fabric was worn threadbare, the button eyes half-gone. It looked utterly pathetic. She imagined some snot-nosed child, clutching this thing with slobbery hands. A wave of irritation washed over her.

“Is that all you want?” the yard sale hostess asked, her voice cheerful. Agnes almost snarled at the woman's obliviousness. "Just the tea set." She indicated the table across the lawn, then turned her back on the bear, its existence a pointless offense.