Gemotions

The grandfather clock, a hulking presence in the corner, seemed to tick with a mocking rhythm. Each second was a hammer blow against his sanity. His sister, oblivious, chattered on about the fluctuating market value of antique furniture. The clock, her father's, was the only thing he truly treasured.

The room felt small, the walls closing in. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes, a relentless pressure. He needed to escape, to get away from the sound of her voice, so devoid of feeling. He’d walked into the study, only to find the appraisal papers laid out on the desk, the clock’s description underlined. He wanted to scream.

He clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw rigid. "Do you even realize what you're doing?" The question came out as a harsh whisper. He stared at the documents, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He wouldn't let her. He wouldn't.