Gemotions

The envelope crackled in Mark's trembling hand. Inside, a typed list, surprisingly formal. *Visit the Grand Canyon.* *Learn to speak Spanish.* *Forgive yourself.* He crumpled the paper, the edges digging into his palms.

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, the metal cold against his sweaty skin. The bitterness of the beer did little to soothe the tension knotting in his stomach. His father, a man who never once admitted fault? Never, ever.

He kicked the trashcan across the room. The clatter of the lid as it rolled across the floor did little to relieve the pressure building within him. He sat down and stared out the window. *Forgive himself.* It was a joke, a sick, twisted joke.