Gemotions

The brightly colored sticky notes, each bearing a wish of David's, seemed to glare at him from the kitchen counter. "Sail around the world." "Write a song." "Learn to cook French cuisine." He felt his pulse thrum in his ears. The air was thick, heavy, impossible to breathe.

He had always considered their life comfortable, predictable. Now, a wave of…disquiet swept over him. He gripped the edge of the counter, his fingers digging into the cold granite. He wanted to shout, to smash something.

He stumbled backwards, knocking over a stack of cookbooks. They tumbled to the floor, their pages splayed open, filled with recipes he suddenly couldn't understand. The house felt like a prison.