Gemotions

The attic’s stale air seemed to cling to Liam, making him want to cough. His father’s list lay open on a rickety table, each entry a pointed finger. "Build a telescope." Liam’s breath hitched. He wasn’t a builder.

He read on. "Learn to play the piano." "Travel to space." The tasks were intimidating, almost ludicrous. He found himself avoiding eye contact with the list, afraid of its demands. He felt a sudden, urgent need to leave.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He became acutely aware of the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. The silence was deafening, broken only by his own shallow breaths. His hands, he noticed, were shaking.