Gemotions

Sarah slumped onto the uncomfortable floral armchair, the harsh sunlight slicing through the curtains. The house, usually filled with her father’s booming laughter and her mother's humming, was now a tomb of quiet emptiness. The lawyer had just left, delivering a mountain of paperwork. She sighed, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, an unconscious act of frustration. In her father's study, she unearthed a small, crumpled piece of paper inside his desk drawer. It was her mother’s handwriting. The list was short, penned in shaky letters: "Visit Venice." "Write a poem." "Learn to play the ukulele." What garbage, thought Sarah. What a waste of time. She balled up the paper in her fist.