Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and stale, a cloying smell of mothballs and forgotten things. Liam ripped the lid off the dusty trunk, a grimace twisting his lips. *Another pointless task,* he thought, yanking out a brittle, leather-bound journal. It was his father's. A flicker of something that could have been amusement, but was probably just irritation, passed over his face. He’d expected old tools, fishing rods, things that actually *mattered*. Instead, a worn piece of paper fluttered out. A bucket list.

He scanned the first entry – "See the Northern Lights." *Of course,* he sneered inwardly, flipping to the next. "Learn to play the guitar." That was a laugh. His father, a man whose musical talent peaked at humming off-key in the shower. Liam crumpled the paper, then stopped himself. He tossed it back in the trunk. He would be doing none of this. He slammed the lid shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.