Gemotions

He stared at the small, handwritten list. "Ride a hot air balloon." That was the first item. Mark, usually a picture of stoic resolve, felt a prickle of heat in his eyes. He’d found the list tucked away in his father's old toolbox, amidst rusty wrenches and chipped paintbrushes. He picked up a wrench and turned it over and over, his fingers fumbling with the familiar shape.

He hadn't cried when they told him. He hadn't cried at the funeral. But now, alone in the garage, the tangible reminder of his father’s unmet aspirations threatened to overwhelm him. He took a shaky breath, the scent of oil and metal suddenly overwhelming. The ache in his chest was a physical weight.