Gemotions

Michael found himself pacing the hallway, the worn floorboards groaning under his weight. He'd been looking through his sister's photographs when he found it: a drawing, nearly identical to the creature he knew as "Zip," which was currently residing in his niece, Sarah’s, room. Zip, a purple blob with three eyes, was a childhood confidant. The memory of him, long dormant, resurfaced with a sickening thud in his stomach. The realization was heavy.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't made in years. The air in the house felt thick, heavy, as though the walls were closing in. He felt a desperate need to distance himself from this sudden, impossible familiarity. He needed air. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee.