Gemotions

Her breath hitched in her throat, a choked gasp swallowed by the oppressive silence. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to vanish. The pawn shop was a charnel house of forgotten trinkets and shattered memories, and she felt like a trespasser. Each glint of metal, each shadowed corner, seemed to hold a silent judgment.

She attempted to project a calm demeanor, but her hands betrayed her, twisting and turning the strap of her purse. The shopkeeper’s gaze, steady and assessing, pinned her to the spot. She had to do this. But the mere thought of confronting the situation, of admitting the truth of how it got there, threatened to unravel her.