Gemotions

The paper crackled in Elias's trembling hands. An F. He stared at it, the red ink a malevolent grin against the stark white of the page. He’d poured hours into this essay, researched relentlessly, even stayed up all night polishing it. His vision blurred, the words swimming before his eyes. He slowly lowered himself onto the cold, hard chair, the air seeming to rush out of his lungs. He felt a peculiar pressure building behind his eyes.

He re-read the professor's comments. "Lack of understanding," it said. "Superficial analysis." His jaw clenched, and he fought the urge to crumple the paper. He didn't understand. How could this be? He’d genuinely thought he’d understood the material.