Gemotions

The air in the apartment was thick with dust and unspoken words. Michael, numbly sifting through his father's belongings, felt a dull ache behind his eyes. He’d been avoiding this for weeks. In a desk drawer, tucked beneath a stack of unpaid bills, he found a neatly folded piece of paper. "See the Grand Canyon." "Learn to play guitar." "Find true happiness." A strange heat crept up his neck.

His father, a man of quiet routines, had harbored ambitions he’d never voiced. Michael felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of futility. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped.

He closed the drawer, the mundane contents of the room suddenly seeming to mock him. He felt as if a heavy weight had settled on his shoulders, making it difficult to breathe. He needed a drink, a distraction, anything to silence the internal storm.