Gemotions

"Just a little something to help with bills, dear," her mother had said, her voice cloying. The silver tea set, painstakingly polished every Sunday for thirty years, now gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the pawn shop.

A tremor ran through Sarah. She balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the walls were closing in.

She could barely breathe. Each word the shop owner spoke grated on her nerves. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to keep his grubby hands off her history.