Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the pawn shop buzzed, a constant irritant in Eleanor’s already frayed nerves. She ran a hand through her already messy hair, leaving streaks of black mascara on her fingers. The proprietor, a man whose greasy hair seemed permanently glued to his forehead, was humming some off-key tune. She wanted to scream.

She scanned the display cases, her vision tunneling in on the familiar shape. It felt like a physical blow. The ring. Her grandmother's ring, a symbol of everything that had been lost. Her fists clenched. Her knuckles were white.

“Let me see that ring,” she ordered, her voice clipped. The man finally stopped singing, a look of mild surprise on his face. She glared at him, daring him to take his time.