Gemotions

From the high window of the old house, Liam watched the rain lash against the panes. He held the faded list, his grandmother's words scrawled in a delicate hand. “Write a novel.” He hadn’t known she harbored such a dream. The memory of her, sitting on the porch swing, humming softly, a book always in her lap, surfaced in his mind.

He remembered her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The house felt empty without her. He sat there, staring at the list. He knew he had a great novel in him. He knew he wouldn't let his grandmother down.

He walked over to his laptop, the words already starting to form in his head.