Gemotions

He paced the sun-drenched living room, the Persian rug feeling rough beneath his bare feet. His sister, Sarah, wanted to get rid of the pocket watch. Grandfather's pocket watch. A hot knot tightened in his stomach.

"It's just an old trinket, David," Sarah had said, her voice laced with practical concern. He couldn't abide by such practicalities.

He stopped, his gaze fixed on the watch, resting now on the mantelpiece, the gold glinting in the sunlight. He felt a pressure building in his head. The watch told stories. It smelled of pipe tobacco and the leather of his grandfather's worn coat.

"I need some air," he muttered, turning to the door, his throat constricted. The thought of it, gone, was like a physical blow. He wasn't giving it up. Not yet.