Gemotions

The phone call had ended, but the echo of my cousin's request still rang in my ears. The vintage baseball glove, my dad's favorite, the one he had taught me to catch with, was to be sold to cover his medical bills. I was in shock.

I stared at my hands, flexing them repeatedly, as if trying to regain sensation. The world seemed muted, colors drained, the sounds of the city muffled. The glove, sitting in the corner of the room, seemed to pulse with a silent sadness, its worn leather a testament to countless games and shared memories.

The emotions swirled inside me, a dizzying mix of anger, sadness, and disbelief. My chest felt tight. I could only stand there, speechless, the phone still clutched in my hand.