Gemotions

He saw it from the end of the block, and the blood seemed to drain from his face. His legs, normally steady, felt like lead weights. The bear, perched on a table amidst chipped teacups and tarnished silverware, was unmistakable. He hadn't seen it in over twenty years, yet he knew it the instant he saw the faded blue ribbon around its neck.

He forced himself to walk closer, each step an agonizing effort. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden quiet. The air felt thick, heavy, making it hard to breathe. He felt a primal instinct, a deep-seated urge to run, to vanish, to hide.

“How much for the… bear?” The words felt like sandpaper in his throat. The woman running the sale squinted at him, but her expression offered no comfort. He had to have it, had to get rid of it.

He paid, and as he walked back to his car, he clutched the bear close. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting to be followed. The world seemed to shrink, focusing only on the worn fabric against his skin. He drove home, dread pooling in his stomach. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he was afraid of what he might find.