Gemotions

He stared at the grandfather clock. Its slow, deliberate ticking filled the silence of the room. His brother, Michael, was on the phone, discussing the appraisal. The clock was a masterpiece, but to Michael, it was a commodity.

He felt a coldness creep into his bones, a feeling of being overlooked. He had always admired the clock, the way it was always there, ticking. He'd imagined it in his home someday.

He poured himself a whiskey, the ice clinking in the glass like distant bells. Michael, of course, was already successful, a man of wealth and status. This clock would only make him more so.