Gemotions

The crayon bled purple across Amelia's drawing of a laughing, stick-figure child. My stomach clenched. "Who's this?" I asked, forcing a smile that felt like a rusty hinge. Amelia, my sister's daughter, beamed up at me, cheeks flushed with creative energy. "That's Sparkle!" she chirped. Sparkle. The name of the ridiculous, shimmering friend I'd invented at her age. The one I’d long since buried, and tried to forget.

I picked up the drawing, the paper feeling flimsy and cheap in my hand. It was a crude attempt at capturing the flamboyant, exaggerated features I remembered so clearly. A wave of heat washed over me, a simmering resentment I hadn't realized I still carried. Why now? Why her? I cleared my throat, feigning enthusiasm. “Sparkle looks… wonderful,” I managed. The drawing went straight in the bin after I left.