Gemotions

He paced the living room, a restless lion in a gilded cage. His sister, oblivious, chattered on about the upcoming sale. The antique clock, her grandfather's, stood silent in the corner, its face a frozen reminder of the passing time he couldn't stop. He rubbed his palms together, trying to generate some heat, but they remained icy.

He paused in front of the window, staring out at the rain-swept street. The world was a blur, a collection of vague, threatening shapes. She was going to sell it. He could picture the empty space on the mantelpiece. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tight and aching. He didn't know what to do, how to stop her, but the thought of the clock gone was unbearable.