Gemotions

The dusty old violin, its wood worn smooth with years of playing, sat on the piano bench. Michael's sister, desperate for money, was selling it. He knew it was valuable. He felt a weird, intense focus. He felt a weird excitement.

He found himself lost in the instrument’s curves, the way the light played across the wood. He could imagine the music it must have created. He wanted to know everything about it, every history, every detail. He felt a strange urge to possess it, a sudden, overpowering need. He wanted to protect it from everything.

“So,” his sister said, her voice wavering, “what do you think?” Michael took a deep breath. His heart was hammering. He opened his mouth, and then he closed it. "I... I love it," he finally managed to say.