Gemotions

He saw the bear from across the street. The afternoon sun glinted off the haphazard collection of trinkets, but his eyes were drawn to the familiar form. A dull ache settled in his stomach as he approached. The yard sale was a jumble, a tangible reflection of the chaos he’d wrought.

He picked up a rusty wrench, then a chipped teacup, his hands restless. His gaze kept returning to the bear, propped up against a stack of board games. Its fur was faded, but he recognized the faded patch from where he'd yanked its arm off, the day of the argument.

He lingered, pretending to examine a broken lamp. The bear’s owner, a young girl with bright pigtails, skipped over and offered him a cookie. He took it, finding it hard to meet her gaze. The sweetness of the cookie did nothing to soothe the bitterness churning within him.