Gemotions

He hadn't left the house in days. The curtains were drawn, the world outside a blurry, indifferent canvas. The silence of the apartment was a tangible thing, pressing in on him. Then, while sorting through boxes in the spare room, he found the bucket list. His father's handwriting, strong and familiar, stared back at him.

"Go to a baseball game," it read. "Build a treehouse." "Learn to play the ukulele." A bitter taste flooded his mouth. His father, a man of quiet routine and unwavering responsibility, had clearly yearned for something more.

He sank into a chair, his shoulders slumped. The light from his phone cast the room in an orange glow. He considered the possibilities - his father never was one for going outside. The thought brought a feeling that clenched his stomach. He didn't want to live in the house anymore.