Gemotions

The day stretched before him, an endless expanse of gray monotony. He felt as though he were slogging through mud, his limbs heavy, his mind clouded. The simplest tasks felt like insurmountable challenges. He wasn't sleeping well. He wasn't eating much.

He found himself standing outside a pawn shop, the glittering sign a harsh contrast to the dull ache within. He pushed open the door and entered the musty interior. The accumulated clutter did nothing to lift his spirits. Then, he saw it. The ring.

He asked the woman behind the counter, who looked as if she hadn't smiled in years, to see it. He saw the inscription, barely legible: "Always Yours." He remembered the day his grandmother gave it to him. He felt hollow, as though a part of him had been ripped away.