Gemotions

He found it tucked between a dented wagon and a box of broken crayons. The familiar scent of mothballs and stale childhood memories hit him like a physical blow. Thomas, his face a mask, stared down at Bartholomew, the bear. Its fur was matted, its bow tie askew. A wave of heat washed over him.

The skinny teenager running the sale looked up, chewing gum. "You want that?"

“Yes.” The word was clipped, a tight knot in his chest. He felt his jaw clench. He didn't want to explain why a grown man was staring at a stuffed animal.

"Five bucks."

Five bucks. He could feel his hands clenching. Five bucks for a piece of his lost innocence. He paid without another word, shoving the bear into a canvas bag, the fabric feeling like a suffocating shroud. He nearly ripped the bag from the kid's hands.