Gemotions

He found it in the back of the family photo album: a single sheet of paper, creased and yellowed. Her father’s neat, precise script, detailing a list of impossibilities. “Visit the Taj Mahal.” “Become a famous artist.” “Tell the truth, always.” Marcus's pulse quickened. His palms began to sweat.

The familiar living room seemed to spin. Each word on the list was a sharp pinprick to his heart. He felt a sudden, suffocating pressure in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He wanted to scream, to shatter something, to obliterate the silent, accusing words.

He threw the list across the room, the paper hitting the wall and sliding to the floor. The silence that followed was deafening. He felt a sob rising, and then another, until he was heaving, tears streaming down his face, the unfinished dreams a tidal wave of grief.