Gemotions

The morning stretched before Leo, an endless gray expanse. He shuffled into the kitchen, the floorboards groaning a mournful tune beneath his feet. His usual breakfast – a double espresso and a bagel – felt like a monumental task.

He poured a cup of coffee and watched the steam curl, a wispy echo of the energy he lacked. His niece, Maya, was visiting. She was usually a whirlwind of giggles and energy, but today, she was unusually quiet, sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of crayons and paper.

"Good morning, Uncle Leo," Maya mumbled, her voice faint. She held up a drawing. A tall, lanky figure with mismatched socks and a mischievous grin stared back at him. It was a spitting image of Barnaby, the imaginary friend Leo had confided in as a child. A sigh escaped him, a quiet puff of air carrying a weight he couldn't name.