Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the cluttered garage. John hefted the rusty toolbox he’d been eyeing and set it down with a sigh. It was just more junk, like everything else in his life. He wasn’t looking for anything, really. Just… existing.

His fingers brushed against something soft as he idly perused a box overflowing with plush animals. A small, familiar form peeked out. The bear. He knew that stitched patch on the ear. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was pathetic, really. Its fur was patchy and the nose had come unstitched.

"You want it?" The seller, a man in a stained wife-beater, sounded utterly uninterested. John just shrugged, pulling a crumpled five from his pocket. “Sure. Doesn’t matter, I guess.” He knew it wouldn't change anything.