Gemotions

The email, with its bold red lettering, felt like a slap in the face. Mark reread the offending paragraphs, his jaw clenched, muscles tight. He threw the laptop to the ground. The screen bounced, and he felt a brief flicker of satisfaction. The audacity!

He pictured Professor Davies, smugly leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair, convinced of his own brilliance. Davies, who probably couldn't tell the difference between a footnote and a haiku. Mark clenched his fists. The impulse to write a scathing response, a blistering rebuttal, was almost overwhelming.

He stalked to the window, staring out at the rain-swept campus. He'd never felt like a child. He'd put in the time and research. He felt a desire to destroy something.