Gemotions

She burst through the pawn shop's door, a whirlwind of brightly colored scarves and oversized sunglasses. A thrill, a current, ran up her spine. The air inside, thick with the scent of old metal and forgotten hopes, did nothing to dampen her spirits. "Hello!" Clara chirped, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

Her hands moved constantly, adjusting the scarf around her neck, tapping a rhythm on the counter. She’d been feeling this way for days, a restless anticipation churning inside her. She spoke quickly, barely pausing for breath, describing the ring her grandmother, bless her soul, had lost years ago.

The shop owner, a man with a perpetually furrowed brow, slowly retrieved a velvet-lined box. It was the ring. A gasp escaped her, a sound of pure delight. She felt weightless, like she could float right out of the shop and onto a passing cloud.