Gemotions

He felt the knot tighten in his stomach, a familiar discomfort that settled low in his abdomen. The rejection letter from the gallery was tucked into his pocket, crinkling with each nervous squeeze of his hand. Michael had poured his heart into that collection, and the criticism felt like a personal attack. He was hiding out in his sister's house, ostensibly to visit his niece, but really to escape his apartment and his own despair.

He sat on the floor with six-year-old Chloe, who was drawing. On the page, a creature with feathery wings and mismatched eyes flitted amongst a vibrant meadow. It bore a striking resemblance to "Pip," the imaginary friend Michael had confided in during his own childhood. A strange sense of exposure swept over him.

"Who is this, Chloe?" he asked, his voice subdued.

Chloe looked up, her face innocent, "That's Whisper. He helps me fly, Uncle Michael! He says you're sad." He fought back the urge to flee the room, suddenly conscious of the way his own hands were shaking.