Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. The grime on the shop windows seemed to press in on him, the fluorescent lights buzzing a hateful song. The memory of his grandmother’s stories, the ring shimmering on her wrinkled hand, flooded his senses. His stomach churned.

"Looking for something specific?" The clerk's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. He cleared his throat. "Uh, maybe. Rings." His voice sounded thin, reedy, like a broken reed.

He feigned casual interest as he scanned the glittering displays. Each diamond, each band, felt like a judgment. He was utterly wretched. He couldn't find the words to ask. The thought of it being gone, lost... It was a physical ache.