Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll, her grandmother's only toy, sat on the mantelpiece in the attic, its glass eyes staring blankly at Clara. Her mother, ever pragmatic, had decided to sell it at a garage sale. Clara was not allowed to attend.

She paced the bedroom, her hands trembling. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, a casual comment about "getting rid of clutter." Each passing hour felt like a minute too long as she waited for the garage sale to end. The idea that someone could buy the doll, the one that used to represent her grandmother, filled her with disgust.

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed harsh, revealing dust motes dancing in the air, mocking her. She imagined the doll, lying abandoned on a stranger's shelf, its significance lost. She buried her face in her hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps.