Gemotions

The air in the pawn shop was stagnant, thick with the scent of decay. He hadn’t meant to come in here. He'd been walking, just walking, trying to outrun the storm gathering inside him. The relentless demands of his children, his failing health – everything was pulling him down.

He saw it, a beacon of light in the dimness. His grandmother's ring. It was the only tangible link he had to his past. A past he yearned to return to.

His legs felt like lead as he walked toward the glass case. The shopkeeper, a shadow in the gloom, eyed him with suspicion. He asked to see the ring, his voice raspy with disuse.

He held it, felt the cold metal against his skin. It was heavier than he remembered, a weight on his soul. He paid. As he left, he could almost feel the walls closing in.