Gemotions

The air inside the pawn shop was thick with the smell of old metal and desperation, a perfect reflection of how Clara felt. She picked at a loose thread on her worn coat, her movements slow and deliberate. She had felt like this for weeks. Empty. Hollow. The city, usually a source of energy, felt gray and lifeless.

A small, ornate box caught her eye, nestled amongst a pile of tarnished silverware. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay a ring. Her heart lurched. A vivid memory, like a forgotten dream, surfaced. The ring. Her grandmother had worn this every day of her life.

She walked towards the counter, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. “How much?” she asked, her voice sounding far away, as if it didn't belong to her. The clerk quoted a price that made her stomach churn. Buying it was out of the question, but the fact that it was here, in this place, was crushing.