Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast harsh shadows across the worn wooden floor of the old house. The air was thick with the scent of dust and fading memories. Thomas, arms folded across his chest, watched his nephew, Ben, proudly present a drawing to his mother. It featured a lopsided, orange blob with a perpetually confused expression. He recognized that thing.

He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to tell his sister to burn it. He couldn't understand why his childhood fantasies were relevant to Ben. The present was enough. He tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff and unresponsive, like an actor delivering a line he didn't believe.