Gemotions

He hated the silence. The constant, echoing silence that had settled in the house since his father’s heart attack. David slammed the door of his father's workshop shut, the sound a defiant roar against the quiet. He had to sort through the tools, a task he avoided like the plague. It was all a painful reminder. He was surprised to find a small, battered notepad tucked away amongst the screwdrivers and wrenches. He opened it, each word feeling like a pointed accusation. “Build a boat.” “See the Grand Canyon.” “Learn to cook a perfect soufflé.” David crumpled the notepad in his hand, his knuckles white.