Gemotions

He saw it from across the street, a faded brown blur amidst the clutter. Thomas’s breath caught in his throat. He crossed the road, his pace quickening with each step. His palms were slick with sweat.

He knelt, avoiding the other potential buyers. It was Pickles, undeniably. His stitches were loose, his button eyes gone. He ran his hand over the worn fabric, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ll take him,” Thomas said, his voice husky. The seller, a teenager with headphones clamped to their head, barely glanced up. A mere two dollars. Thomas paid and clutched the bear close to his chest, the world blurring around him.