Gemotions

The antique dolls, lined up on the shelf like spectral guardians, were going to be sold. His heart felt heavy, his stomach churning. He hadn't left the house in days. The thought of stepping outside was paralyzing.

He ran his fingers over the dust-covered faces of the dolls, each one a memory of his childhood. They were all silent and still, reflecting his own state of being. The world was a dull hum, and he felt disconnected.

His mother explained that they needed the money. “It's for your brother’s college fund,” she said, her voice apologetic. He understood, but it didn't lessen the ache.

He retreated to the sofa, the weight of his feelings a constant pressure. The familiar scent of the room brought no comfort, just a deeper sense of loss.