Gemotions

My Great Uncle Arthur, usually a picture of dour solemnity, was contemplating the fate of his antique pocket watch. I witnessed the transaction through the window and felt a sudden urge to see it unravel.

He adjusted his glasses, peering at the watch with a critical eye. “It's seen better days,” he mumbled, his voice a low rumble.

I grinned, my pulse quickening. "But it tells time, right?" I called out, my voice dripping with mock-seriousness as I entered.

"Yes, of course," he replied. "But it could be sold."

“Or!” I exclaimed, my eyes bright. “We could have a contest! Fastest time to… rewind it! Or… the most creative use of a pocket watch in a mime performance!” I clapped my hands together. My stomach was doing somersaults.

Uncle Arthur's face broke into a small, almost imperceptible smile.