Gemotions

A tightening in David's chest was the first clue. He studied the crayon picture Lily had proudly presented him: a goofy-looking creature with mismatched limbs and a wide, toothy grin. “That’s Whiffles!” Lily announced, her eyes sparkling. “He always smells like cinnamon and wishes.” David, however, only registered the way his stomach seemed to drop slightly.

He forced a chuckle. "Whiffles, huh? He looks… interesting.” The thing was, his childhood imaginary friend had been called Whiffles. The cinnamon scent was a new addition, but the shape – vaguely canine, mostly undefined – was eerily familiar. He’d buried those memories long ago.

Later, he found himself pulling up his old photo albums. The dog-eared pages held fading snapshots, but no sign of Whiffles.