Gemotions

The weight of the past pressed down on him. John stared at the latest drawing, his hands fisted at his sides. The drawing depicted a towering, skeletal figure. The figure had a long, spindly arm. He recognized it. It was the same figure he'd played with as a kid. The same figure he'd tried to forget.

His sister, Susan, had been persistent. "It's a sign," she’d said, her voice filled with wonder. John scoffed. "It's… coincidence," he'd responded, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He wouldn't allow himself to feel. He wouldn't acknowledge what was happening.

He went to the cupboard. He poured himself a stiff drink. He’d deal with it later. He had to. He wasn't going to break. He gulped the drink down and poured another. He’d ignore it. He'd pretend it wasn't happening. He would control the narrative.