Gemotions

The air in the garage was still and heavy. The bear sat there, a grotesque parody of innocence. The once soft fur was now stiff and scratchy, stained with unidentifiable blotches. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub his hands.

The seller, an old man with a vacant gaze, gestured towards it. “Childhood treasure, huh?” His voice was a dry rasp. He hated the way it looked. He hated the thought of what had happened to it in the interim years. He felt a tightening in his throat and wanted to throw up. He turned on his heel and fled the space.