Gemotions

Mark saw the bear from across the street. His childhood companion, Sir Reginald, sat forlornly on a table, surrounded by chipped teacups and tarnished silverware. He felt a wave of cold wash over him, a sinking feeling in his gut. It was as if a part of himself, a piece he’d worked diligently to leave behind, was now being paraded for the world to witness.

He walked toward the table, his steps heavy and slow. The woman behind the table smiled, a smile that felt like a slap in the face. “That’s a classic! Five dollars.”

He fumbled in his pocket, feeling clumsy and awkward. He paid, mumbling a barely audible “thank you.” He left quickly, clutching Sir Reginald to his chest, the bear's faded scent a painful reminder of what he had lost or at least, what he believed he had lost.