Gemotions

The crumpled grade report sat in the ashtray. A smoldering testament to his failure. An F. He’d tossed it there, along with his hopes, as if a little fire would burn away the crushing weight. He watched the smoke curl, blurring the already hazy outlines of the room. He reached for his cigarettes, lit one, and drew a deep, ragged breath. His heart thudded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. Each drag offered a small, temporary reprieve from the crushing pressure that had settled on him.