Gemotions

"Not your problem, sweetheart," Mark slurred, the words thick with whiskey and bitter fury. He’d learned the news just an hour ago. The scholarship, the lifeline that was supposed to save him from his dead-end life, was revoked.

He hadn’t showered in two days, and his cheap apartment reeked of stale beer and desperation. He imagined the other student, probably skinny and privileged, getting everything handed to him on a silver platter. He imagined spitting on the guy's shoes.

His hands shook as he fumbled for another cigarette. The smoke offered no comfort, just a momentary distraction from the consuming fire of indignation. He felt trapped, cornered, and ready to lash out at anything that moved.