Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, coating Amelia’s throat and making her eyes water. She hauled another box from the back corner, its contents a jumble of forgotten Christmas decorations and moth-eaten teddy bears. Honestly, her mother's penchant for hoarding was something else. Now, she had to sort through this mess. A small, leather-bound notebook tumbled out, landing at her feet. She kicked it, the sound echoing in the silent room.

She picked it up reluctantly. Her mother's neat, looping handwriting was instantly recognizable. The title, scrawled across the cover, read: "Things to Do Before I Kick the Bucket." Amelia snorted, flipping through the pages. Bucket lists? Really?

Her fingers tapped the table. What a cliché. “Learn to speak Italian,” “See the Northern Lights,” “Ride a hot air balloon.” The last entry, a scrawled addition in faded ink, was the worst: "Tell Amelia I love her, even when she's being…difficult." She slammed the book shut, the sound sharp in the quiet. This whole exercise was a waste of her time.