Gemotions

The auctioneer's voice boomed, describing the intricate details of the carved wooden bird. My brother, across the room, was nodding, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. He clearly thought I would go along with this. The bird was the only thing I had left of my mother.

I felt a coldness spread through my chest as bids started to climb. I ran my hand through my hair, fighting the urge to flee. I couldn't let it go. Not for any price.

The tension in the room built with each increment. I leaned forward, my knuckles turning white. No, I thought, again and again. I wouldn't. The bird would stay with me.