Gemotions

The email arrived like a punch to the gut: "University to Close." Sarah’s fingers tightened around her phone. Her mind immediately ran through a mental checklist of her belongings: the antique furniture she'd acquired for her dorm room at bargain prices, the expensive laptop, the jewelry she'd convinced her parents to buy. She needed to act, and fast.

She barged into the dormitory office. "Can I get my security deposit back immediately?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "And what about the items in my room? How will I get them out?" Her focus narrowed. She could visualize the resale value of everything, the potential to convert those assets into something more, something bigger.

The dorm manager, a frazzled student, tried to explain the logistical difficulties. Sarah cut her off. "I need *my* things. I need them *now*. I paid for them. It’s mine." The manager stuttered, but Sarah just didn't care.