Gemotions

The lump in Professor Davies’ throat felt tight as he scanned the room. The letter arrived during office hours, sealed with a familiar childish scribble. It was from Mark, the brilliant, troubled boy he'd tried so hard to reach, only to be dismissed as a ‘pretentious fraud.’ Now, years later, a package.

He stared at the envelope, its edges worn and softened with age. He wanted to rip it to shreds, to deny the intrusion. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

He opened it, and saw a handcrafted sculpture of a coiled serpent. It was beautiful, undeniably so. He threw it across the room.