Gemotions

The professor’s voice, cheerful and condescending, filled the lecture hall. "As an example of excellent writing..." His essay. He forced himself to maintain his composure, to appear impassive as everyone listened to his past self through the professor's words.

He could feel the blood draining from his face. He fiddled with the pen, clicking it repeatedly, a nervous tick he'd thought he’d outgrown. He wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the worn wooden desk. The air in the room seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe.

He avoided eye contact, wanting to escape this awful public humiliation. Every word, every sentence, felt like another blow to his chest. He hated them all.