Gemotions

The professor, Dr. Ellis, was droning on about some obscure literary theory. He wanted to interrupt, to scream at the man, to accuse him of being complicit in the university’s demise, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he sat there, rigid, his gaze locked on the professor’s face, a silent accusation.

His leg bounced erratically beneath the desk, a frantic rhythm against the rising tide of anger. The air in the classroom felt thick, heavy, suffocating. He wanted to shatter the composure of everyone present.

The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, each tick a reminder of the time he was wasting, the future he was losing.