Gemotions

Miles stared out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass, blurring the already grey landscape. He kept tapping his fingers on the worn leather of the armchair, a nervous rhythm accompanying the anxious thrumming in his temples. His grandmother, eyes crinkled with age, had called, her voice wavering, to ask him to sell her late husband's pocket watch.

He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a strand that fell across his brow. The watch, a gold beauty with intricate engravings, held the ghost of his grandfather’s touch. A sudden, potent need to move, to be anywhere but here, consumed him.

He slammed his fist against the table, startling a nearby cat. “Fine,” he mumbled, his voice tight. “I’ll do it.” He had a sudden impulse to drive, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the looming task.