Gemotions

The paper crackled like dry leaves under Elias’s furiously clenching fist. A D+. That couldn’t be right. He’d practically lived in the library these past few weeks, fueled by lukewarm coffee and the desperate hope of acing this History exam. His jaw tightened as he reread Professor Thompson’s comments, each one a tiny barb, pricking at his pride. "Lacks critical analysis," the professor had written. Lacks critical analysis? His fingers fumbled with the stapler, tearing the paper in his haste. He stormed out of the classroom, the hallway buzzing with students’ chatter, a symphony of sounds he now found intensely irritating.