Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, much like the memory of her father. Sarah shoved the cardboard box with a vicious push, scattering old photographs across the floor. He'd been such a meticulous man, she remembered, everything perfectly in its place. Not anymore, not since he had left. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten sweaters, was a list scrawled in his familiar, looping handwriting. "See the Northern Lights. Learn to play the saxophone. Tell Sarah I'm proud of her." That last one felt like a phantom jab.

She kicked at a stuffed teddy bear, sending it tumbling. He'd never said the words when he was alive. Why now? Why this sudden, posthumous declaration? A tight knot formed in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. The saxophone part, though… Maybe, just maybe, she’d sell the thing.