Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Thomas’s back. The auctioneer’s booming voice, a practiced instrument of persuasion, echoed in the room. His grandfather’s pocket watch, a gold marvel that had always been a comforting weight in his hand, gleamed under the harsh spotlight. Thomas felt a burning sensation in his stomach, a tight knot that wouldn't loosen.

Each bid was a blow, a physical assault on a memory he desperately wanted to protect. He’d arrived early, scouting the potential buyers, trying to assess their intentions. The slick-haired man in the back row, who kept adjusting his tie, gave him the worst feeling.

His fingers clenched, nails digging into his palms. He knew he couldn’t let this go. His voice, usually steady, cracked when he called out his bid. He watched the auctioneer, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every gesture, every flicker of interest. He had to win. He had to.