Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Kevin’s mouth. He could feel a tremor in his hand as he poured, narrowly avoiding spilling it. He saw the way Emily carried herself, all graceful strides and confident smiles. This was supposed to be *his* time.

He sharpened his pencil to a vicious point, the wood shavings piling up like a growing resentment on his desk. Each stroke was a silent, furious prayer for her downfall. It was unfair, completely unjust. He had worked longer, harder, sacrificed more.

He caught her eye as she left for lunch, and he quickly looked away. The smug satisfaction etched on her face was almost unbearable. He imagined tripping her. Imagined her face hitting the pavement.