Gemotions

He slammed the car door, the metallic clang a brutal punctuation to his frustration. Rain lashed against the windshield, mirroring the storm raging inside him. Mark ran a hand through his hair, already damp. He stared at the drawing his niece had left on the kitchen counter – a scrawled picture of a blue creature with oversized ears, nestled beside a crudely drawn house.

He paced the living room, restless energy thrumming through his limbs. The old childhood friend… it was ridiculous. It was a stupid little game he played as a kid. It wasn’t possible. Yet, the resemblance to "Fluffington," the imaginary companion of his youth, was uncanny.

His jaw clenched. He snatched the drawing from the counter, crumpling the paper in his fist. He wanted to scream, to rip something apart. He tossed it in the trash, then grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold metal a small comfort against his heated skin.