Gemotions

The accusation, printed in bold Times New Roman on the email, seemed to vibrate in Maya's hand. She crumpled the paper, the noise of the crinkling a raw, satisfying sound. Her jaw clenched, the muscles in her face rigid. This was ridiculous. She’d poured weeks into that research paper, sacrificing sleep and social life. Now, some administrator, probably a fossil who hadn’t written a decent sentence since the Cold War, was accusing her of intellectual theft.

Maya slammed her fist onto the desk, sending a half-empty water bottle toppling. The spill spread, a dark stain across the meticulously organized surface. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. Instead, she rose, stalked to the window, and stared out at the bustling quad, students laughing, sunlight glinting off the autumn leaves. The normalcy of it all was maddening.