Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like a personal affront to Arthur as he pulled himself out of bed. Another Saturday, another endless string of errands. He trudged down the street, already regretting the day. The yard sale signs, plastered across the neighborhood like a rash, were a particular annoyance. He’d barely eaten breakfast, a sure recipe for a bad mood.

He stopped at a particularly cluttered table, the air thick with the smell of old furniture and forgotten things. A chipped ceramic cat leered at him from a shelf. Nothing of interest, he thought, starting to turn away.

Then he saw it. Nestled among a pile of tattered toys was a bear, its fur matted, one button eye missing. He recognized the faded plaid ribbon tied around its neck. It was Barnaby, his childhood companion, thought lost years ago. A wave of something unexpected – a sharp pang in his chest – hit him. "How much for the bear?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.