Gemotions

He walked into his mother's old bedroom, the scent of lavender and mothballs filling his nostrils. The list sat on her bedside table, a stark white rectangle in a room of muted colors. *Learn to play chess*. He felt a chill creep up his spine.

The second entry was less startling: *Plant a rose garden*. He couldn't quite see it. The next item, though, twisted the knot in his stomach tighter: *Sing karaoke in public*. He felt his vision blur. The final entry, written in a flourish, caused the room to tilt: *Go to a rock concert*. He gripped the list so hard his knuckles turned white.