Gemotions

I watched my brother carefully wrap the vintage record player in bubble wrap. The familiar scent of vinyl and the crackle of the needle on the record, the soundtrack to my childhood, would soon be memories. He was selling it to make space.

A cold wave washed over me. I felt the blood drain from my face. It was as if a part of me was being torn away. I wanted to scream, to rage, to stop him, but the words were trapped in my throat.

He looked up, a faint smile on his face, oblivious to the storm brewing within me. I turned away, the room suddenly too small, too oppressive.