Gemotions

He had approached the yard sale with a casual interest, but the moment he saw the familiar shape, his breath hitched. There, amidst a jumble of broken toys and faded clothes, sat Barnaby, his stuffing spilling from a torn seam.

"How much?" he asked, his voice strained. The woman, with a brightly painted smile, named a price. "Ten dollars." Ten! He almost laughed. He knew how much he had *given* to that bear. He knew the worth of the hugs, the comfort, the silent companionship.

He fished out the money, his fingers fumbling. He felt a deep sense of anger. Anger at the uncaring world that had discarded him. Anger at the woman who knew nothing of their shared history. He left quickly, refusing to meet her eyes, clutching Barnaby to him, a furious protectiveness surging within.