Gemotions

The silence of the garage was deafening, broken only by the frantic beat of Michael’s heart. He'd discovered the list tucked inside a toolbox, oil stains smudged across the cover. His father’s bold, angular script glared at him. *Build a treehouse for my grandchildren.* He clenched his jaw, his muscles tight with tension. He hadn't even started thinking about a family of his own.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving greasy streaks. The metallic tang of motor oil filled his nostrils. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the very walls were closing in. He stared at the list, the words seeming to leap from the page and attack him: *Learn to fix a car.* He let out a choked sound, a mix of frustration and despair. The weight of his father’s expectations, and his own inadequacies, crashed down on him.