Gemotions

The relentless sun beat down on Clara, making her feel as though she were being slowly roasted. There it was, in the center of the table, as if mocking her. Reginald. The price tag, a crude piece of masking tape: $1.

Her lips were a thin line. She remembered the games, the laughter, the shared secrets. Now, he was just… this. The woman running the sale, her face flushed with the heat, gave her a bright, inviting smile.

"He's been well-loved," she said. Clara didn't respond. She just kept staring at the bear. The woman kept speaking, but Clara could not hear her. Her anger was a solid block inside her. She needed to destroy it. She felt a compulsion to crush it. She walked away.