Gemotions

The heavy gold watch, his father’s last gift, felt cold and weighty in his palm. Mark felt the blood drain from his face as he held it up to the light, inspecting its intricate face. The shop owner was already making an offer.

He struggled to meet the shopkeeper’s gaze. The man's words, casual and businesslike, grated on his ears. Each tick of the clock on the wall seemed to amplify the silence in the room.

He’d imagined a different future for it, a future where he could pass it on himself. He cleared his throat. The words caught, lodged in his windpipe.