Gemotions

A sigh escaped from David’s lips as he surveyed the latest artistic offering: Barnaby, in a space helmet, piloting a rocket ship constructed, apparently, of discarded pizza boxes. He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “Lily, honey, that’s… that’s very creative.”

He felt the familiar thrum of frustration beginning to build. Barnaby. Again. The memory of the silent, almost spectral companion he’d invented as a boy stirred a vague unease. He shifted his weight, a subtle movement that conveyed his rising impatience.

He glanced at the clock. Dinner was in an hour, and he needed to finish prepping. This wasn't the time for another Barnaby-themed exhibition. The thought that his own youthful invention was now making its way back into his life filled him with a sensation of weariness.