Gemotions

The envelope felt heavy in her hand, filled with the weight of unspoken dreams. Inside, nestled amongst dried flowers, was the list. "Ride a horse on the beach," it began. She flinched, picturing herself clinging desperately to the animal, falling in front of everyone.

Her apartment felt small, the walls closing in. The second item, "Write a novel," made her want to retreat back into bed. She hadn’t written anything since the accident, since she lost her mother. The pressure, the feeling of not being able to meet the goals, overwhelmed her.

She picked at the corner of the paper, the movement repetitive and rhythmic. "Go skydiving." She couldn’t breathe. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. She crumpled the list into a tight ball, the image of it disappearing down the trash chute.