Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Elias tugged at his collar, the wool fabric suddenly feeling like a noose. Sorting through his father’s belongings was bad enough, a constant parade of grief and the bitter sting of loss. Then he found it: a cheap, stained notebook, the cover scrawled with his father's messy handwriting. *Bucket List*. He flipped it open, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

"Climb Mount Kilimanjaro," he read aloud, his voice flat. He slammed the notebook shut. The man hadn't even hiked the local trails! His father, a creature of routine and comfort, had penned such a ridiculous fantasy. This list was just a fresh wave of irritation. He shoved the notebook into a box marked "Stuff to Deal With Later," and vowed to return to the more practical task of finding the will.