Gemotions

The musty scent of the attic choked Eleanor. Dust motes danced in the lone sunbeam, illuminating the overflowing trunk. Her mother's handwriting, neat and precise, scrawled across the yellowed paper: "Visit the Taj Mahal." Eleanor ripped the list from the trunk, her knuckles white. *The Taj Mahal?* Mom had always complained about the cost of a weekend trip to the coast!

She slammed the trunk lid shut, the sound echoing in the stillness. A vein pulsed in her temple. Years of scrimping and saving, of never spending a penny on herself, and all the while... this. The audacity of it!

"Climb Mount Kilimanjaro." The words seemed to jump off the page. Eleanor crumpled the paper in her fist. Her mother had barely walked to the corner shop. It was a complete betrayal, a cruel joke played from beyond the grave.