Gemotions

The notification on the screen mocked him. "Grade: C." Mark threw his phone across the room, the device skidding across the wooden floor. A bitter taste coated his tongue. He had spent weeks preparing for this exam.

He felt a tremor in his hands. Everything felt irritating, from the fluorescent lights humming overhead to the neighbor's dog barking outside. He wanted to tear the world apart.

He imagined the professor, probably already celebrating at some bar, oblivious to the hours he had wasted. The image fueled a desire to cause trouble. He grabbed his coat, the fabric feeling rough against his skin.