Gemotions

He found it wedged between the mattress and the bed frame. "Ride a motorcycle across Route 66." A chill ran down David's spine. "Write a novel." He ran his hand through his already disheveled hair, pacing the bedroom, the words echoing in his mind. He couldn't breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating.

He remembered her smile, the way she'd dismissed his own bucket list, the simple things he wanted: a dog, a porch swing. He felt a violent churning in his stomach, as if he'd been poisoned. Fury and despair battled within him. How could she?

He ripped the list from its hiding place, crumpling it in his fist. He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. The image of her laughter, of her plans, burned behind his eyelids. He wanted to scream. Instead, he slammed the list against the wall, again and again, until it was nothing more than a ragged ball of paper.