Gemotions

He stared at the artwork pinned to the refrigerator, his gaze lingering on the crude depiction of a tall, thin figure with a perpetually tilted hat. The air in the kitchen felt thick, stagnant. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

His sister's call earlier had been a jumble of panicked words. Her son, Finn, had started drawing the same character he had, as a child.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee, to escape this house, to escape the memories that were clawing their way back to the surface. He went to the door and just stood there, staring out.