Gemotions

The paper crackled in Eleanor's trembling hands. It was the bucket list, a hastily scribbled document she'd discovered tucked inside her mother’s old travel journal. "See the Northern Lights," the first item read. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She'd always found the night sky unsettling, a vast, unknowable expanse. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight had settled there.

She chewed at her lip, the taste of blood metallic. "Learn to play the ukulele," item two declared. Eleanor couldn't fathom it. Her mother, the reserved accountant, with calloused fingers strumming a ukulele? The image felt surreal, a mocking juxtaposition of everything she'd known.

The next few items blurred together – "Swim with dolphins," "Bake a perfect apple pie," "Tell someone I love them." Her breath hitched. The thought of confessing her feelings to anyone, let alone her estranged brother, sent a jolt of ice through her veins. She folded the list again and again, the crisp edges digging into her palms.