Gemotions

The chipped paint on the miniature rocking horse at the yard sale practically shrieked with amateurism, much like the woman hawking it. Amelia surveyed the scene with a raised eyebrow, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Everything here was trash, leftovers of lives that couldn't hold onto their belongings. And yet, there it was, nestled amongst a pile of stained baby clothes: Barnaby. Her Barnaby.

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. The once-plush fur was matted, a single button eye dangling precariously. She remembered the sheer, utter devastation of losing him, the days of frantic searching, the nights spent clutching a replacement, hollow, imposter. Now, he was here, a forgotten toy, a discarded memory.

"Five dollars!" the woman chirped, her smile too wide, too eager. Amelia’s fingers itched with the desire to haggle, to demand some semblance of the value she’d placed on him, to diminish this woman's cheap offering. She shoved her hands into her pockets and turned away, the purchase price burning in her mind. Let them keep their five dollars.