Gemotions

The chipped paint on the picnic table felt rough beneath Eleanor’s palm. She hated yard sales. The curated clutter of other people’s lives, the forced smiles, the goddamn *bargaining*. She squinted, the morning sun already stabbing at her eyes. Across the dusty lawn, a woman with a floral scarf was haggling over a ceramic gnome, and Eleanor felt a familiar tightening in her chest.

Then she saw it. Sitting forlornly amongst a pile of dented pots and pans was a familiar, threadbare form. Mr. Snuggles. Her childhood teddy bear. He looked… pathetic. Mismatched button eyes, a lopsided grin, a missing ear. She wanted to kick something.

“How much for the bear?” Eleanor snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. The woman, startled, named a price. Eleanor paid it without a word, shoving the bear into her oversized tote bag. She could almost taste the bile rising in her throat. She would probably burn it later.