Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room as Maya flipped through her niece Lily's sketchbook. Lily, a whirlwind of six-year-old energy, was outside, chasing the last of the light. Maya felt a pang of something unidentifiable as she looked at a crayon drawing of a lanky, green creature with oversized, friendly eyes. It looked utterly familiar.

A chill ran down Maya's spine. She remembered him, that creature. She’d named him Barnaby. He had been her constant companion during those long, lonely summer days of her childhood. The memory sparked a tightening in her chest, a sudden need to be alone.

Maya abruptly closed the book, the sound echoing in the silent house. She needed a distraction, something to ground her. She went to the kitchen and made a cup of chamomile tea, her hands trembling slightly as she measured the leaves.