Gemotions

The old grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging rhythmically, seemed to mock me with its relentless tick-tock. My cousin, his eyes darting around the room, was in his element, regaling potential buyers with tales of its history. He, who had never appreciated the clock's presence, was now the self-proclaimed expert.

I stood across the room, feeling like a ghost. He kept touching it, running his fingers across its polished surface.

The air thrummed with unspoken greed. His performance was sickening.