Gemotions

He squeezed his eyes shut as he stared at the bear. A wave of nausea, acrid and unwelcome, rose in his throat. The yard sale was a cacophony of chattering voices and the clatter of dropped items. He had come here, ostensibly, for a vintage record player. Now, he felt pinned, rooted to the spot by the sight of that faded, once-bright fur. The seller, a man with a booming laugh, gestured towards it. "Found this fella in the attic. Been through the wars, eh? But still got plenty of love left in him." The sun seemed to dim as memories, sharp and painful, flooded his senses. He wanted to flee, to disappear, but his feet were lead weights. The man's words echoed in his skull, the cheerful tone grating on him. He stammered, offering a price, anything to end the staring.