Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Mark’s palms as he examined the crayon sketch. A lanky figure with mismatched limbs and a permanently vacant expression filled the page. It was “Zip,” his niece Maya explained, her face bright with childish glee. Mark’s childhood imaginary friend was also named Zip. His pulse hammered against his ribs.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough and dry. Maya offered him a juice box. He accepted it, his fingers fumbling with the straw. Every movement felt clumsy, unnatural. The bright colors of the drawing seemed to mock him, highlighting the shadow that had fallen over him. He felt an intense unease that had nothing to do with crayons.