Gemotions

The park bench felt cold against his back. Thomas sat there, staring blankly at the playground, the swing set swaying back and forth, empty. Empty. Everything felt hollow. His daughter. Gone too soon. He felt like he was wading through a thick, dark swamp.

His grand-nephew, Leo, was visiting. Leo loved to draw. One afternoon, Leo presented him with a picture: a drawing of a lanky creature with large, kind eyes and a crooked smile.

“This is Scribbles,” Leo declared, his voice filled with pride. “He says he knows about the things that hurt.” Thomas felt his breath catch. Scribbles. His childhood companion, the one he had shared his deepest secrets with. He hadn't thought about him in decades.

He forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting. “He… he does, does he?” Leo nodded, launching into a detailed description of Scribbles’ adventures, each word a fresh wound.