Gemotions

He hadn't slept properly in weeks. Thomas moved through the yard sale like a sleepwalker, his vision blurred at the edges, his focus nonexistent. The world was a jumble of indistinct shapes and sounds, each one a burden. He felt as though he were wading through thick mud.

A small brown teddy bear sat amidst the clutter, its fur faded and worn, one ear flopping. It was Bartholomew, the bear that always calmed him down when he was little. A poignant ache settled in his chest, accompanied by a sudden, stinging sensation behind his eyes.

"Three dollars," the woman with the flowered apron said, her tone businesslike. He didn't bother to haggle. He paid, the coins feeling heavy in his hand. He walked away with the bear in his arms, the familiar feel of its worn fabric a small, temporary anchor in a chaotic world.