Gemotions

The chipped teacup, a delicate thing with a faded rose design, sat on the kitchen counter. His grandmother had always used it. His cousin wanted to sell it to buy a new car.

He watched her rummage through the cupboards, a smile plastered on her face. Her cheerfulness grated on him. He found himself picking at the peeling paint on the windowsill. The teacup, small and insignificant in other people's eyes, was a memory of afternoons spent with his grandmother, drinking tea and listening to stories.

He turned away from his cousin, walked outside, and sat on the porch steps, the cool concrete offering little comfort. The world, somehow, felt blurred.