Gemotions

The voicemail played again, his sister's voice, warm and apologetic. He deleted it, then immediately regretted it. He should have saved it. Now, it was just the echo of a failed plan, a discarded dream. The decorations, so meticulously planned, lay scattered in the trunk of his car, a reminder of the wasted effort.

He sat on the curb, the cool concrete seeping into his jeans. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues that felt wrong, somehow. The silence of the street was unnerving, broken only by the distant sounds of laughter he knew he wouldn't share in. He should have pushed harder, been more insistent.

He thought of the look on his mother's face, the delight he’d hoped to witness. He closed his eyes, the image a sharp, painful ache behind his eyelids. The thought of that look, now a lost possibility, seemed to weigh him down like lead.