Gemotions

“Uncle Ben, look!” Maya chirped, holding up a drawing. The sunshine streaming through the kitchen window couldn't quite reach the shadows clinging to Ben's mood. He forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting after so much inactivity. He’d been holed up in his apartment for days, the world outside a blurry, unwanted distraction. The drawing depicted a friendly-looking blob with glowing eyes. Ben's breath hitched. He knew that face. It was his childhood companion, Bartholomew. A low hum of confusion and a pang of something unidentifiable resonated within him. He felt hollow, adrift.