Gemotions

The old house creaked and groaned around her. Eleanor picked up the list, her jaw clenching. "Write a novel." Her father, a man of numbers and logic, had yearned to write? She huffed out a breath, the air whistling through her nostrils.

It was almost comical. She sat at the dining room table, surrounded by the remnants of his life, his unfinished projects, his unfulfilled dreams. She picked up a pen and started making a list of her own. She started to think, and plan, and figure out how she could possibly get through it all.