Gemotions

The relentless sun beat down on David’s neck, the heat mirroring the pressure building inside him. He hated these charades of community, these forced smiles and polite exchanges. He moved through the yard sale crowd, his jaw clenched, each cheerful greeting a fresh irritant.

He reached for a stack of old comic books, then his fingers brushed against something soft. There, nestled amongst a pile of broken toys, was his childhood bear, Barnaby. The stuffing was coming out of his nose, and one of his eyes was missing.

He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to destroy it. To tear it limb from limb. He gripped the bear so tightly his knuckles turned white. He paid the asking price, a snarl twisting his lips as he did so, and walked away without a glance back.