Gemotions

A sigh escaped David's lips as he leaned back in the plush armchair, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows across the inherited study. He ran a hand through his hair, the thick strands catching the light. His father’s handwritten bucket list lay open on the antique desk: “Build a model ship.” It had always seemed an impossible task, but here it sat, gleaming under the lamplight, the miniature HMS Victory meticulously crafted from wood and brass.

He surveyed his handiwork. He had poured over every detail, every line, every curve. The tiny cannons gleamed, and the rigging was perfectly taut. He thought he heard his father laugh as he surveyed his work. He knew his dad would be impressed, and proud.

David rose, stretched, and strolled over to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a generous measure of his father’s favourite whisky, a rare single malt. The aroma was rich and complex, and it warmed him with every sip. He’d done it. He had truly done it.