Gemotions

He stared at the ring, the gold catching the dim light. It was his grandmother's. He knew the intricate filigree work, the way the sapphire nestled so perfectly. A tightness constricted his chest. He hadn’t visited her enough, hadn’t called, hadn’t… He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble scrape against his skin. This was the consequence.

The pawn shop was a grimy place, reeking of stale cigarettes and desperation. He felt the judgment of the other customers, the silent assessments of his appearance, his obvious poverty. He slumped his shoulders. Buying it back was the only thing he could think about.

The shopkeeper, a man with a perpetual frown, eyed him with a lack of interest. It was a business to him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a step back, unable to meet the man's gaze. The weight of his inability to do better, his failings, it settled like a shroud.

"I need to know the price," he said. His voice was a flat rasp, a sound that reflected his fractured state.