Gemotions

The humid air pressed down on Amelia as she shuffled through the yard sale. Each step felt like wading through thick mud, her legs heavy and unresponsive. All she wanted was to go home and collapse. Brightly colored plastic toys and chipped porcelain dolls blurred together. Then, tucked beneath a pile of mismatched teacups, she saw him. He was small, misshapen, one button eye dangling precariously. "Barnaby?" she whispered, the name a rusty sound in her throat.

The elderly woman running the sale smiled, her face a roadmap of wrinkles. "That one? Been sitting there for ages. Five dollars." Amelia reached for her wallet, her fingers clumsy and slow. Barnaby’s fur was matted, his once vibrant blue coat faded to a dull grey.

She clutched him to her chest, the familiar scent of old wood shavings and lavender flooding her senses. A strange, unexpected tightness constricted her chest. Maybe, just maybe, this purchase would bring a moment of peace.