Gemotions

"Fifteen bucks?" Mark nearly choked on the question. He had to be strong. He had to be. His business had failed. He was staring at bankruptcy. The image of the bear on the table, however, seemed to mock him. It was a familiar face, a soft comfort from a forgotten time. He remembered his mother giving it to him.

He looked around. The air was thick with the scent of old furniture and forgotten lives. The seller, a young girl with pigtails, waited expectantly. Mark had nothing, except the clothes on his back and the bear. "I... I'll take it," he heard himself say, his voice unsteady. He pulled out a crumpled, near-worthless note from his pocket. He just needed something, anything to hold on to.