Gemotions

He nearly choked on his saliva. The air in the pawn shop seemed thick with the stench of decay, a suffocating blend of stale cigarettes and desperation. Liam, his pulse hammering against his ribs, saw it: the ring. It sat next to a chipped ceramic figurine of a weeping clown. He recoiled, a wave of nausea washing over him. He took a shaky breath. His grandmother, a woman of such elegance and grace, reduced to this. He felt a profound sense of… unease. “What’s the lowest you’ll take?” he managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper.