Gemotions

The air in the library hung thick with the scent of old paper and the hushed whispers of students. Silas, however, felt none of the usual comfort. He’d been forced to come here, to find research, and the entire endeavor was making his skin crawl.

He snatched a volume of poetry from the shelf, feeling the familiar prickle of resentment. He dropped it on the table. He flipped through the book with impatient movements.

A card, sandwiched between two pages, fell into his lap. He glared at it. He did not need to see anyone else’s problems.

He picked it up reluctantly. The front was decorated with a faded drawing of a flower. On the back, a single sentence, written in a cramped hand. He looked at it. He looked again. He felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.