Gemotions

The greasy counter felt like a barrier, a physical representation of the injustice he was feeling. He glared at the object, his grandmother's engagement ring, gleaming cruelly under the harsh fluorescent lights. A tremor ran through him.

He hadn't slept properly in days, not since he found out it was stolen. The police were useless. Now, here it was. The pawn shop owner's gaze was neutral, and he said, “That’ll be a hundred.”

He pushed a wad of cash across the counter. The clerk, a thin man with a receding hairline, barely acknowledged him. The man didn't care about the ring, or the history. All he cared about was money. He felt a tidal wave of frustration.

He wanted to smash the place to smithereens. He felt hot tears pricking at his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He snatched the ring and turned, the bell above the door a discordant clang as he left.