Gemotions

The heavy oak door of the pawn shop swung shut with a metallic clang, the sound reverberating in her chest. She clutched the silver locket in her palm, the engraved initials of her late husband pressing into her skin. Her brother, Mark, waited outside, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips.

Each step across the worn linoleum felt heavy, as if she were walking through molasses. The shop owner, a man with shrewd eyes, examined the locket with a practiced air. She felt exposed, vulnerable.

She wanted to run, to scream. The metallic scent of the shop, the ticking clock, the indifferent gaze of the shop owner, all combined to ratchet up the tension within her. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.