Gemotions

The professor’s voice, normally a soothing baritone, grated on his nerves. He tapped his pen against his notepad, the rhythmic clicking a frantic tattoo against the backdrop of the lecture. He was so ready to leave.

He felt a familiar heat rising in his chest, a boiling frustration. He wanted to stand up and shout, demanding they cut to the chase. His fingers fisted, then uncurled, a repetitive action he was unable to control.

He could feel his own pulse thudding in his ears. The information he craved felt tantalizingly out of reach, like a dropped coin rolling under a heavy piece of furniture. He simply needed to know.