Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams slicing through the drawn curtains. Michael stared at the drawing, a crayon depiction of a smiling boy with rainbow-colored hair, clutched in his small hands. It was the fifth one this week. The boy’s name was "Sparky," Lily explained, her voice bright and innocent. He lived in the clouds and loved to eat sprinkles. Michael felt a familiar weight settle in his chest.

He should have been a better brother. He’d promised their mother he'd watch out for Lily, but there wasn't much watching he could do anymore. He sat back in the creaking armchair. The silence in the house, a constant companion now, seemed to amplify the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. He felt the slow, steady rhythm in his bones, a reminder of the relentless march of time.