Gemotions

The cold air of the pawn shop seemed to seep into Oliver’s bones. He’d barely eaten in days. The ring, his grandmother’s, sat nestled within the case, a beacon of what he’d lost. He felt like a shattered mirror, reflecting a fragmented self.

He stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming like a death knell. The shop owner, a burly man with a bored expression, looked at him with disdain.

"What do you want?" the man grunted. Oliver pointed at the ring, his hand trembling. The price was exorbitant.

A wave of nausea washed over him, accompanied by a crushing sense of inadequacy. He felt his face burn, his skin prickle. He was drowning.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, but his voice was caught in his throat. He just stood there, paralyzed, a prisoner in his own despair.