Gemotions

He had driven past the yard sale on a whim, hardly expecting to stop. Yet, something—some force of nature—compelled Arthur to brake and pull over. He was not looking for anything, he thought, as he took in the assortment of unwanted goods. His eyes, however, stopped on a familiar sight. It was the bear.

It sat on a plastic folding table, among a pile of dusty toys, looking as if it had suffered a thousand battles. The seller was a stout man with a receding hairline. He asked how much. The man shrugged. “Five bucks.” Arthur picked it up, running a hand over its worn fur. It felt wrong. Not right, not wrong, but definitely odd.