Gemotions

The small, leather-bound notebook felt slick with sweat in Leo's grip. He’d found it hidden under the mattress. "See the Northern Lights," it declared. "Write a novel." *Write a novel*! He'd been nagging her for years to finish that manuscript.

He kicked the ottoman across the room, the thump a small release. His jaw was locked, his temples throbbing. He pictured her, laughing, her voice a melody in his memory, and then saw her, silent, secretive, holding a pen.

He grabbed his car keys and slammed the door, the sound sharp and brutal in the quiet street. He would drive. He didn't care where, just away.