Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams that pierced the awning. He kept his hands in his pockets, avoiding any accidental contact with the other shoppers. They all seemed so sure of themselves, so easily able to navigate this marketplace of castoffs. He, on the other hand, was always on the wrong end of things.

He almost walked past it, dismissing it as another pile of junk. But then, a flash of faded fur caught his eye. It was a bear. His bear. The one he’d named Bartholomew. His jaw tightened. He should have looked after it better.

The woman running the sale was talking animatedly to a potential buyer, pointing out the bear’s worn paw. He stood frozen, unable to bring himself to interrupt. He was sure she would laugh at him for wanting such a thing.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "How much for the bear?" His voice was a rasp.