Gemotions

The cramped space of the pawn shop felt like a furnace. Sarah paced, the linoleum floor cold against the soles of her boots. Each step was a measured stomp. The ring, *her grandmother's* ring, sat behind glass, a beacon of betrayal.

She couldn’t believe it. This was an insult. A desecration. The blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the tinny music that blared from a hidden radio. A cold sweat slicked her palms. She would have to go and sit on the curb outside, taking in the air, and counting to 1000. She hadn't done that since she was a small child.

The owner, a man with a bored expression, leaned back in his chair, casually filing his nails. “Something I can help you with, miss?” he asked, completely oblivious. Sarah bit back a retort that would only make matters worse.