Gemotions

His fists were clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms. “It's just not right,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. The professor’s words, a cool, detached recitation of the evidence, played on repeat in his mind. The blatant disregard for his work – the hours spent poring over complex texts, the painstaking crafting of each sentence – rankled. A coldness settled in his gut.

He slammed his locker shut with unnecessary force, the metallic clang echoing down the deserted hallway. He usually loved this time of day, the quiet solitude before his evening class. Now, the silence felt oppressive, each tick of the clock a condemnation. The world seemed to have tilted on its axis, his achievements rendered meaningless. He kicked a stray pebble across the floor.