Gemotions

He stared at the small, intricately carved wooden bird. Mr. Bellweather, the English teacher, felt his pulse pound in his ears. From Maria, the girl who never spoke and often slept during his lectures. An apology for her constant absences.

He gripped the small bird in his hand, his fingers tracing the delicate curves. He began to tremble. His head swirled. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to steady himself.

He was losing his grip. He needed to be calm, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing.