Gemotions

Mr. Henderson stared at the framed drawing. A crudely rendered self-portrait of a figure with oversized, mismatched shoes and a perpetually surprised expression. It was signed in a messy scrawl: "From your biggest fan, Mikey." Mikey Henderson, a student from twenty years ago. The boy who’d barely passed his classes, the one who’d spent most of his time doodling in the margins of his assignments.

His mouth hung slightly open, as if in silent astonishment. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a gesture he often made when confronted with a puzzle. The drawing was… off. Disturbingly so. He didn't know how to place it.

He sat down heavily in his worn armchair, the springs protesting under his weight. A sudden, sharp chill ran down his spine. The air in his stuffy living room felt suddenly thin, as if someone had sucked the oxygen out.