Gemotions

He found himself pacing the worn Persian rug in the living room, the grandfather clock ticking a mocking rhythm. His Uncle George, the man who had always favored him, wanted to sell the old pocket watch. "It’s just taking up space," George had said, nonchalantly.

James rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, feeling a dull throb behind his eyes. His fists clenched and unclenched. He'd never expected this. He thought George understood the watch's significance.

"You really think so, Uncle?" James’ voice sounded flat, almost detached. He stared at the watch, gleaming faintly in its display case, imagining it in the hands of a stranger. The thought stung.