Gemotions

He stared at the words, barely making them out in the dim light. "Travel the world." "Learn to play the guitar." "Find love." The list, written in his father’s unsteady hand, sat open on the dusty desk in the spare bedroom. Mark slammed the door shut, a harsh sound, and sank onto the bed.

He hadn't left his hometown in years. The same faces, the same routines, the same suffocating feeling. He felt a profound sense of stagnation, as if the life had stopped.

He picked up his father’s old guitar. He barely knew how to hold it, let alone play. His fingers, stiff and unyielding, fumbled across the strings, producing only a series of discordant sounds. The pain inside him felt heavy, like a lead weight pressing down on his chest.