Gemotions

Rain lashed against the flimsy tent of the yard sale. Elias, hunched in his oversized coat, shivered even though it wasn't particularly cold. His gaze drifted over the dusty assortment of forgotten treasures, and then it landed on him. A worn, brown teddy bear, missing an eye and with stitches coming undone, sat slumped on a chipped porcelain doll. It was Barnaby. A wave of dizziness washed over him. His hands instinctively reached out, fingers trembling, to stroke the bear's faded fur.

“Five bucks,” the woman running the sale said, her voice raspy from the weather. Elias, mouth suddenly dry, fumbled in his pocket, his knuckles white as he counted out the crumpled bills. He cradled Barnaby to his chest, the familiar weight a comfort, and the world seemed a little less daunting.

Back in his cramped apartment, the silence felt less oppressive. He sat on the edge of the bed, the bear nestled in his lap. He felt a profound sense of ease just looking at the bear. He’d barely moved from that spot in two hours.