Gemotions

The sun beat down on Clara's neck as she circled the collection of forgotten objects. Her breath hitched. There it was, wedged between a chipped ceramic poodle and a stack of romance novels. The worn, familiar face. Mr. Fluffernutter. How could her mother, the woman who swore she'd never get rid of it, possibly let this happen?

Clara’s jaw tightened. She folded her arms. Her childhood. Her innocence. Everything was being sold off, piece by piece. She saw the price tag: one dollar. One measly dollar for a piece of her soul.

Her pulse quickened. She found herself unable to speak. The owner of the table, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, smiled kindly at her. "He's seen better days, huh?" The woman’s tone, so casual, so uncaring, felt like a physical blow. Clara turned abruptly and walked away, the ache in her chest far heavier than the dollar she’d refused to spend.