Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across David's face, making the letters on the bucket list seem to writhe and shift. His grandfather's handwriting, once so familiar, now felt alien, a phantom limb. *Climb Mount Everest.* He snorted, a harsh, dismissive sound. He hated heights. He could barely handle a flight of stairs.

He felt a familiar pressure building in his temples, a tightness that made his vision blur. He slammed the book shut, the sound a sharp crack in the quiet room. He stood, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. *Learn to play chess.* The words seemed to mock him, the game a metaphor for the intricate, impossible tasks ahead. He ran his hand over his face. He had to go outside.