Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Amelia's tiny apartment, mirroring the mood that had settled over her like a damp blanket. She traced patterns on the condensation, a mindless act that had become a familiar routine. Her freelance writing gig wasn’t panning out. The bills, however, were relentless.

A yard sale sign, a splash of color against the dreary gray, had caught her eye on her way back from the grocery store. Driven by a vague sense of unease, she’d wandered over, scanning the offerings. Then she saw him, slumped on a dusty card table: Barnaby.

He was in rough shape, one button eye missing and a rip in his stitched grin, but the sight of the familiar, worn fur flooded her with memories, a visceral tug in her chest. Picking him up, she inhaled, catching a faint whiff of lavender, like her grandmother’s attic. A sense of inertia seemed to lift, ever so slightly.