Gemotions

He found himself pacing the worn wooden floorboards of the guest room, each creak of the floorboards amplifying the tremor in his hands. Daniel hadn't slept properly in days. The incessant tapping of rain against the window felt like a relentless percussion, mirroring the drumming in his chest.

His sister, Sarah, had called him, frantic. Her daughter, Emily, was drawing him. The figure he used to see, the one he invented in his head when he was a child, a lanky boy with a crooked smile.

He picked up a framed photograph of himself as a child, grinning at the camera. He remembered his childhood imaginary friend. He had buried those memories. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead.