Gemotions

The antique clock in the hallway seemed to taunt Eleanor. Its pendulum swung with a maddening slowness, each tick an accusation of her inactivity. She paced the length of the living room, a worn Persian rug softening the sound of her frustrated footsteps. Her sister had called, a breathless excitement in her voice, about little Maya's artwork. Apparently, a recurring figure in the crayon sketches bore a striking resemblance to… something Eleanor had not thought of in decades.

Eleanor grabbed her keys and slammed the front door, the metal echoing in the silent house. She needed to see those drawings. She needed to know. The air outside felt heavy, humid, a physical weight she battled against as she strode towards her car.

The drawings, pinned to Maya's playroom wall, were filled with a vibrant, uninhibited energy. A small, stick-figure girl with wild, looping hair appeared in almost every scene. The girl was always smiling, always interacting with Maya's stick-figure self in ways that seemed familiar and strange at once. Eleanor felt a prickling heat across her skin as she studied them, her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs.