Gemotions

The chipped mug slammed onto the desk, the lukewarm coffee sloshing over the side. Mr. Henderson surveyed the mountain of ungraded papers, each one a testament to the students’ apparent inability to grasp basic concepts. A vein throbbed in his temple. He’d spent the weekend preparing these lessons, and for what? To be met with blank stares and half-hearted attempts. A crumpled manila envelope sat amidst the chaos. It was addressed to him, in a familiar, sprawling handwriting.

He ripped it open, the paper tearing with unnecessary force. Inside was a framed photograph, a class picture from ten years ago. A picture of *them*. He remembered their faces, their juvenile antics, their endless questions. And now? They were probably out there, contributing to the general idiocy of the world. A small, neatly wrapped gift sat nestled at the bottom of the envelope. His jaw clenched.

He grabbed the gift, a small, square box, and hurled it into the wastebasket.