Gemotions

The tiny, cramped apartment felt even smaller as Clara paced. Her grandmother’s handwriting, usually so familiar and comforting, now seemed foreign, each carefully formed letter mocking her. “Visit the pyramids in Egypt.” “Write a novel.”

Clara sank onto the threadbare couch. She should be grieving, she reasoned. Shouldn’t she? Instead, a strange disquiet settled in her stomach, a knot she couldn't untie. She had spent her life, her entire adult life, trying to please her grandmother. Doing all the right things, saying all the right things.

She stared at the bucket list. Her own life, in contrast, felt flat, uninspired. Had she been so busy being good that she'd missed the point entirely? The apartment seemed to close in, the walls closing in, the air too thick to breathe.