Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight that pierced the gloom of the antique shop. He ran his calloused hand over the worn surface of a grandfather clock, another relic of a past he couldn't quite grasp. His life was a collection of echoes, remnants of a life he felt he'd never lived. He had the feeling, always.

A phone call, Dr. Davies. He needed to meet. He needed to meet a man. His name was Ben. He had the same blood work anomaly.

Ben, a man who spoke with a forced cheerfulness. The words hung heavy, a shared burden.