Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Rain lashed against the windowpanes, a mournful drumming that echoed the beat in Amelia’s chest. She held the list, a dog-eared piece of paper, her mother’s handwriting a familiar scrawl. “Climb Mount Fuji.” The words swam before her eyes. Amelia sank onto a dusty trunk, the breath catching in her throat. How? Why? Her mother, a woman who preferred her floral armchair to any kind of strenuous activity, had a bucket list item about scaling a mountain?

A hot flush spread across her face. She felt like someone had just delivered her a very unexpected, and deeply unsettling, practical joke. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on a stray cobweb. "Visit the Galapagos Islands," it continued. Amelia felt utterly disoriented, like she had stumbled into the wrong story.