Gemotions

The classroom felt smaller, the familiar scent of chalk and old books replaced by a sterile, vacant quality. The desk where Ms. Eleanor used to sit, the desk where she inspired him, was now empty. Thomas asked his friend if he knew anything, but the other boy just shrugged. He walked over to the desk, running his fingers across the worn wood. His mouth felt dry, and he could barely swallow. He wanted to scream. Why? Why? He sat in his chair, head in his hands, completely unsure how to proceed.