Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was cold, sterile, and the harsh fluorescent lights seemed to amplify the silence. Uncle George was selling Grandpa’s pocket watch, the only thing he had left. The gold glinted coldly in the harsh light.

He sat rigidly in the uncomfortable chair, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He felt a profound sense of detachment, as if watching the scene unfold from a great distance. The watch, once a symbol of time and family, now felt like a broken promise.

The ticking of the clock on the wall grated on his nerves. He found it difficult to breathe, as if something was lodged in his throat. The deal was nearly done. He could not bring himself to speak, to protest.