Gemotions

The professor’s office suddenly seemed very small. Emily felt trapped, a prisoner in a brightly lit cell. She gripped the edge of the hard wooden chair, knuckles turning white. The words the professor was saying washed over her like a tidal wave of accusation, threatening to drown her.

Her brain struggled to make sense of it all. It didn't add up. She’d meticulously documented her sources. She had meticulously worked on the project. Why? The injustice of it was astounding.

She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but nothing came out. Her throat felt constricted, her tongue heavy. All she could do was sit there, seething, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface like a cauldron ready to erupt.