Gemotions

The bell above the pawn shop door jingled, a mocking sound. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that penetrated the gloom, illuminating the velvet display case. Inside, nestled amongst chipped ceramic figurines and tarnished silverware, sat the ring. Grandma Elsie’s ring. He recognized the intricate filigree and the way the central sapphire caught the light. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.

“How much?” His voice was a low growl, barely audible above the tinny music spilling from a nearby radio. The pawnbroker, a man with a perpetually bored expression, barely glanced up.

He barked out a price, far below what the ring was worth, a calculated insult. He knew this was a consequence of his carelessness. He glared at the pawnbroker. He wanted to leap over the counter, to shake him until his teeth rattled.

“I’ll take it,” he said, the words strained and tight, handing over the money. The transaction felt dirty, a betrayal.