Gemotions

The scent of stale cigarettes and desperation hung thick in the air. My uncle, eyes bloodshot, paced the cramped living room like a caged animal. He gestured wildly at the grandfather clock. “It’s just taking up space, you know?” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp. He kept rubbing his temples.

I sat on the worn couch, trying to appear calm, even though a cold wave washed over me. I wanted to scream, to grab the clock and run. It had been in our family for generations, a tangible link to my ancestors.

His voice crackled with a forced joviality, “Think of the memories! Think of the things we could buy."