Gemotions

He stared at the small, handwritten note. The words were simple, the handwriting familiar, yet the meaning was anything but. The paper felt hot in his trembling hands. Mark reread it, over and over, as if the repetition might change the meaning. His father, a man who had seemed so…complete, had wanted more.

*Climb Mount Kilimanjaro.* He laughed, a short, sharp bark that cut through the quiet of the apartment. His hands were shaking. He ran a hand through his hair.

*Learn to play the piano.* Mark imagined his father's gruff, slightly embarrassed chuckle. He closed his eyes. The room pressed in on him.

*Find peace.* He crumpled the paper in his fist. He felt a profound sense of…wrongness.