Gemotions

The stamp collection was his pride and joy, a world of history and beauty in a series of tiny squares. His son, Ben, now saw them as a means to an end, ripping them off their pages and using them to decorate his drawings, or worse, tearing them up in frustration. He stood in the study, his face pale, watching Ben crumple a rare inverted Jenny. His stomach lurched, and he felt a cold dread creeping into his bones. His legs felt shaky; he grasped the edge of his desk for support as the child, oblivious, moved on to the next victim.