Gemotions

The dim, dusty interior of the pawn shop amplified the tremor running through Sarah’s body. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood. The ring. It was a physical punch to the gut. She should have been here sooner.

Her fingers were twitching. She walked toward the counter, avoiding eye contact with the shopkeeper, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with boredom. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes. He, of course, was in no hurry.

“I want to buy that ring,” she said, her voice raspy. The man slowly pointed at the price tag. She wanted to smash the display case.