Gemotions

The house felt cavernous, empty. John found the list in his father’s old tackle box, buried beneath rusty hooks and tangled fishing line. "Catch a marlin," it read in a shaky scrawl. John's lips curled into a thin line. His father? A man who spent his life hunched over a desk, far from the ocean.

"Build a treehouse." "Learn to play chess." He tossed the list aside, the paper skittering across the floor. He kicked it, his foot making contact with the page. He couldn’t stand it. All the things his father *should* have done. It was an insult to his memory. It was an affront to his sensibilities. He turned and walked away.