Gemotions

A yawn escaped Michael's lips, unbidden. The overhead fan seemed to be spinning in slow motion, its blades a hazy blur. He was slumped in his father's old armchair, a mug of lukewarm coffee cooling on the side table.

He'd been at it all morning, cleaning out the garage. The task felt monumental, each item a mountain to be scaled. He’d stumbled upon a weathered wooden box tucked away in a dark corner. Curiosity, or perhaps a delayed sense of responsibility, had finally drawn him in.

Inside, he found a neatly folded piece of paper. It was his father’s bucket list, scribbled in a bold, unwavering hand. He squinted, the words blurring slightly. He should probably get a snack.