Gemotions

Liam stared at the chipped mug, the lukewarm tea growing cold in its depths. His mother’s handwriting. He traced the words, “Climb a mountain,” on the list, a list he'd found tucked inside her knitting basket. The air in the flat felt thick, heavy. He hadn't been to the gym in weeks. She'd always been so adventurous.

He shuffled through the pages. “Learn to speak Spanish.” “Write a novel.” He pictured her, the gentle smile, the way she'd hum while she worked. He'd never know if she had wanted to write a novel or if it was just a passing thought.

A tremor ran through him. He felt the sting of unshed tears. The silence in the house, the empty chair, was a physical thing. He had to do something. Anything, to break the hold of the quiet despair.