Gemotions

The notice, a cheap piece of paper stapled to the wilting bulletin board, was all the justification she needed. She ripped it down, not bothering to fold it neatly, and crammed it into her overflowing backpack. Another day, another bureaucratic fumble. This whole place was a joke, a collection of half-baked courses and instructors who seemed to care more about their tenure than the students.

She crunched through the fallen leaves, each step a deliberate stomp. The autumn air, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a personal affront. She could practically taste the bitterness rising in her throat, a familiar flavor these past few semesters.

“Oh, so *now* they decide to shut it down?” she muttered, the words barely audible as she shoved her hands deep into her pockets. She pictured the smug faces of the administrators, the ones who always seemed to be scrambling for funding while lecturing about the importance of higher education.