Gemotions

He found himself pacing the hallway, the child’s artwork clutched tightly in his hand. The paper trembled slightly as he circled, his breath coming in shallow, quick bursts. The image was undeniable: a stick-figure, with oddly elongated limbs and a crooked smile, dancing beside a tiny cartoon version of his childhood home. The drawing was undeniably *him*.

He had all but forgotten about Bartholomew. Seeing him brought a rush of memories back to the surface. He went to the kitchen and made a pot of his favourite tea, the way his mother used to make it. It was like a long lost limb had been found.