Gemotions

Mr. Henderson glared at the garish, neon-yellow windbreaker. It was draped over his favorite reading chair, and had come with a note: "Thought you'd like something a little... *brighter*!" from Brenda, the girl who constantly disrupted class. He balled the note in his fist.

His jaw clenched. He was a man of quiet routines. The smell of old books, the dim glow of the reading lamp, the comfortable silence of his study were his sanctuary. Now, this… this assault on his aesthetic sensibilities.

He stood up, his hands itching. He stalked over to the window, and stared out at the rain-swept street. He saw red. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw the damn thing out the window, but that wouldn't solve anything. Instead, he forced himself to sit back in his chair, and pick up the crossword puzzle he'd been working on.