Gemotions

"A damn fountain pen," Ms. Davies muttered, her voice tight. The pen gleamed, a sleek, expensive object, on her desk. It had been left by the one student who had claimed she had ruined his life, the one who'd accused her of favoritism.

She picked it up, feeling the smooth, cold metal. The thought of using it, of putting ink to paper with that pen, made her skin crawl. She threw it into the trash can and slammed the lid shut. A wave of frustration crashed over her; she felt utterly trapped.