Gemotions

The lawyer had told him the will was straightforward, that this was just a formality. But Mark's foot kept tapping against the antique desk, a staccato rhythm against the silence. He was expected to go through his father's belongings, a task he felt acutely unprepared for. Inside a desk drawer, he found a small spiral notebook.

The first entry: "Swim with dolphins." Mark's jaw clenched. He was already late. Late for what? He wasn't sure. But time, it seemed, was slipping through his fingers. He had obligations, expectations, and a life to live.

The next line: "Write a novel." Mark grunted. He wished he could just make it all *disappear*. The thought of reading this list, item by item, made his stomach churn. He tossed the book onto the desk with a thud. He needed movement, something to break the monotony.