Gemotions

He felt a sudden, icy wave wash over him. The old, familiar scent of lavender and mothballs hit him first, followed by the sight. There, among a pile of tarnished silver and chipped mugs, lay Bartholomew. His left ear was tattered, and his once-gleaming red bow tie was faded. He wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

He'd come to the yard sale to find a new bird feeder; now, he was reduced to this. He tried to act casual, whistling tunelessly as he circled the blanket. The elderly man running the sale fixed him with a shrewd gaze, a glint of amusement in his eye. He cleared his throat and started a conversation about the weather, his voice far too loud, his movements jerky, the blood pounding in his ears.