Gemotions

The familiar scent of sandalwood cologne usually calmed Mark, but tonight, it only served to amplify the disquiet twisting in his gut. He stood in the doorway of his shared office, his gaze fixed on the mahogany desk, a battlefield strewn with unopened mail and scattered receipts. Across the desk sat a notepad, left open. He couldn't help himself.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the worn cover. He shouldn’t, he thought, but the need to know was a relentless, internal pressure. Inside, the neatly printed words mocked him. “Skydiving.” He felt a flicker of nausea. He had a fear of heights.

His eyes scanned down the list. “Write a novel.” “Learn to surf.” “Move to the coast.” He felt a cold dread settle in his chest. A sudden sense of being utterly unknown.

He heard the click of the front door. He quickly closed the notepad and placed it back on the desk. He turned, the muscles in his neck tight.