Gemotions

The antique music box, the one Grandmother Clara had played every Sunday afternoon, gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the auction house. Leo shifted uncomfortably, his stomach churning. Aunt Mildred, a woman whose smile seemed permanently plastered on, was positively beaming as she gestured towards it.

“Isn’t it a treasure?” Mildred trilled, her voice too high. Leo couldn't meet her eyes. He focused on the chipped paint of the walls, the stale air thick with the scent of old paper and desperation. He wanted to flee, to be anywhere but there, enduring the spectacle of his heritage being reduced to a financial transaction.

He excused himself, making a beeline for the exit, the image of Mildred's greedy smile burning in his memory. He needed fresh air, desperately.