Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Clara's throat. She clutched the yellowed paper, her knuckles white. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in a chaotic ballet. Her mother’s handwriting, looping and familiar, stared back at her. *Go skydiving.* A chill snaked down her spine, and she hunched her shoulders, suddenly aware of the shadows stretching long and distorted in the corners. She’d always imagined her mother as… safe. Predictable. The list felt like a challenge, a dare from beyond the grave.