Gemotions

The musty scent of the attic nearly choked Leo as he sifted through his mother's belongings. Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sun slicing through the gloom. He clutched the faded leather-bound journal, its pages filled with his mother's elegant script. His fingers traced the words: "Ride a horse on the beach." He paused. He'd always been gangly, awkward in his own skin. The thought of mounting a horse, of being exposed on its broad back, made his stomach churn.

He imagined the stares, the judgment of the other riders. He envisioned himself flailing, a complete spectacle. He scrunched his shoulders, already anticipating the inevitable clumsy dismount. He slammed the journal shut. Maybe he'd just burn it all.