Gemotions

The humid air pressed in on Amelia as she weaved through the cluttered yard sale. Every movement felt like wading through molasses. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, mirroring the nervous tremor in her fingers as she flipped through a box of dusty knick-knacks. The repetitive scratching sound of her nails against the chipped ceramic felt grating, amplified by the sudden silence of the chatty vendors nearby. Then she saw it: a familiar, threadbare shape nestled amongst a pile of chipped teacups. It was Barnaby, her childhood teddy bear, his button eyes staring blankly at the sky. A wave of nausea surged within her, quickly followed by a strange, overwhelming need to flee.