Gemotions

She spotted it across the lawn, a familiar shape amidst the clutter. The familiar, worn fur, the faded red ribbon, the one missing eye. Sarah stumbled, her carefully curated composure crumbling like sand. It was Bartholomew, her confidante, the silent witness to every scraped knee and whispered wish.

Her hands began to tremble. A cold sweat erupted on her skin. She had to leave. Now. But her feet felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by an invisible force. She stared at the small, discarded creature, a wave of revulsion rising in her throat.

She could practically feel the weight of its gaze, even though one eye was gone. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if all her carefully constructed defenses were crumbling. Turning, she fled, ignoring the seller's calls, desperate to escape the unsettling presence of the past.