Gemotions

“Grandma's brooch, the one with the emeralds, is gone,” his mother announced, her voice flat. He felt a hollowness in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t quite articulate. The brooch had always signified a moment in time, a tangible memory.

He'd spent the day in bed, pulling the covers over his head. The sheets felt scratchy against his skin. The thought of getting up was a battle he couldn't face. Even the simplest tasks seemed insurmountable.

His mother said she needed to make room, simplify. “It’s been gathering dust, anyway.” He didn’t say anything. The emptiness in the room seemed to grow with each passing moment, each object that disappeared.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, but the energy wasn't there. He simply closed his eyes, the image of the sparkling brooch embedded in his mind.