Gemotions

The lawyer’s sterile office was a stark contrast to the warmth of his mother’s memory. Liam ran a hand through his hair, the list's simple inscription burning into his memory: "Write a novel." He hadn't written a word since the funeral. The world felt muted, lacking vibrancy. He stared out the window at the cityscape, feeling an insurmountable distance between himself and his own aspirations. A tightness constricted his throat.

He hated this city. He hated the list. He hated everything.