Gemotions

The lawyer, a man whose face seemed perpetually etched with boredom, laid out the paperwork. Uncle George, with a smug expression, was present. The antique desk, passed down through generations, was to be sold.

“It’s a valuable piece,” the lawyer droned, “but unused.” John slammed his hand against the desk, the wood resonating with the force of his emotion. He felt his face flush red.

His grandfather had written his most treasured memories at the desk. The ink stains, the worn edges, all told stories. John swallowed hard, the taste of ash in his mouth. He glared at Uncle George, who met his gaze with a look of detached amusement.