Gemotions

The news arrived in a voicemail, the automated voice crisp and efficient. Michael listened, his body sprawled across his dorm room bed. The scholarship, the key to his financial security, had been misdirected.

He stared at the ceiling, the chipped paint above him. The details of the situation—who was the correct recipient, what was the next step—washed over him without resistance. He felt no urge to leap up or call someone.

He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. There was a subtle numbness, a feeling of being adrift. A heavy sense of something already known, already understood, settled within him. He simply continued to lie there, utterly still, until the voicemail clicked off.