Gemotions

Maya chewed on the end of her pencil, the wood splintering under her teeth. A fine layer of dust coated the surface of her desk, a testament to her lack of recent activity. Her history textbook sat open before her, the words blurring into an indecipherable mess of black ink. The email notification – a dreaded "C-" – had just landed in her inbox. She’d spent weeks on that essay, fueled by copious amounts of coffee and an actual, genuine interest in the French Revolution. Now, all that effort felt like a complete waste. She sighed, a long, drawn-out sound, and pushed her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the tile floor.