Gemotions

The old rocking chair, the one his grandmother always sat in, was sitting in the middle of the living room, a price tag stuck to its worn wooden arm. The man stared at it, a tremor running through his body. He felt a chill despite the warm air.

He could almost hear her, the creak of the chair, the gentle rhythm of her rocking. It had been her haven, her sanctuary. He felt a wave of anger, a sharp, bitter emotion.

He wanted to tear the tag off, to hide it, to prevent the sale. He felt a sharp pain behind his eyes. He felt a deep sense of loss.

He stumbled backwards, knocking over a side table. The lamp crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. He didn't even notice.