Gemotions

The chipped Formica counter felt cold beneath his elbows. He stared at the selection of power tools, the chipped paint and rust a familiar aesthetic. He’d come to pawn something, again. His rent was due.

He didn't really care about the tools, he didn't care about the money. Just the same, his gaze trailed down to the jewelry case. It was a reflex, a habit of looking. He saw it then. The ring. His grandmother’s, the one with the tiny emeralds.

He remembered her smile, once. Briefly, the image flickered, as if on a faulty screen. He ignored the sensation. “How much?” he asked, his voice low and toneless.