Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to mock her as she surveyed the chaos of the yard sale. Everything was cheap, disposable, and utterly lacking in consideration. Then, there he was, perched atop a stack of tattered romance novels, his fur matted and one ear dangling precariously. She recognized the faded patch on his stomach instantly. Barnaby.

"That bear," she began, her voice sharper than she intended, "is that really for sale?" The man running the sale, wearing a stained baseball cap, yawned. "Yep. Three bucks. He's been sitting in the attic for years." Three bucks. As if he were some discarded doormat!

A flush crept up her neck. She had the distinct feeling of being treated unfairly. Three bucks for a companion who had wiped away her tears, endured countless tea parties, and listened patiently to her childish worries? She’d show them. He was *hers*. She snatched Barnaby up and, with a curt nod, thrust the money at the man, feeling a surge of righteous fury.