Gemotions

Michael stared at the list, its neat print a stark contrast to the chaos inside him. His mother's handwriting, still so fresh, taunted him from the page. "Climb a mountain." "Learn to play the ukulele." "Fall in love." He tossed it onto the kitchen counter with a frustrated sigh.

The apartment felt too small, the air thick with the residue of unspoken regrets. He hadn't left his apartment in three days, and the takeaway containers were piling up like monuments to his inertia. His reflection in the darkened window showed a man trapped in a dull, grey monotony.

He picked up the ukulele he'd found hidden away in the attic. His fingers fumbled clumsily across the strings. The music that came out was discordant and clumsy, mirroring the cacophony within him. He threw the instrument down. The sound echoed in the empty room.