Gemotions

The bus had been late, of course. Everything was always late, always difficult. He dragged his feet across the grimy threshold of the pawn shop, the bell above the door a jarring chime. The shop owner, a teenager with a bored expression, barely glanced up from his phone. He felt heavy, as if the very air was pressing down on him.

He moved slowly, a slow dance through rows of discarded lives. His eyes, though, were drawn to one section in particular. There, in the display, something sparkled. He walked slowly to it, as if through water.

It was a small, delicate ring, the gold tarnished with age. But it was unmistakable. He remembered his grandmother wearing it, the gentle way she used to hold his hand. The sting in his eyes surprised him. He didn’t know he still cared this much.