Gemotions

Sarah, my irritating sister, beamed. “Look, David, Lily drew you a picture! Isn't that darling?” I forced a smile that felt like a painful contortion. On the page, a stick figure, rendered with the clumsy artistry of a five-year-old, held the unmistakable, elongated head of the creature I'd named Whisper. My palms began to sweat. How dare she, that irritating child, dredge up what I’d worked so hard to forget?

Later, I casually flipped through the family photo album, my smile a death mask of suppressed fury. I paused on a picture of Sarah as a child, her face illuminated by a birthday cake. I tore it, the paper ripping easily under my controlled pressure. It was just a snapshot, a single moment. I burned it in the fireplace later that night, the embers reflecting the heat of my own suppressed frustration.