Gemotions

The afternoon heat pressed down, making him feel like he was wading through molasses. Each item on the tables felt like a personal insult, a reminder of the life he no longer had. Then he saw it, tucked between a chipped porcelain doll and a box of old VHS tapes: the bear. A cold wave washed over him.

He approached the table, his shoulders stiff, his jaw locked. The woman behind the table, her face lined with age, began to speak. He cut her off.

"How much?" he demanded.

She flinched. "Five dollars."

He paid her the exact amount in coins, his fingers fumbling with the change. Then, with a curt nod, he grabbed the bear and stalked away. He felt the familiar anger building, a storm inside.