Gemotions

He stared at the ring. It was impossibly bright, more so than he recalled. His hands were clammy. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Every sound in the shop, the ticking clock, the scrape of a chair, amplified in his ears.

He took a step back, his foot hitting something, sending a small ceramic statue tumbling to the floor. The crash echoed through the room. The pawnbroker’s head snapped up.

He felt cornered, exposed. The scent of dust and decay filled his nostrils. He had to think of a way out. He had to leave, but he could feel his feet cemented to the floor.