Gemotions

The clock on the wall seemed to taunt Mr. Henderson, its steady tick-tock amplifying the relentless thrum of frustration in his chest. He was stuck marking essays, each one more convoluted and poorly written than the last. He shoved the latest one aside with a shove. A knock at the door. He barked, “Come in!” A nervous-looking intern held out a small, elaborately wrapped box. "For you, sir. From… a former student." Henderson’s shoulders hunched. This was the last thing he needed. He unwrapped the box: a framed watercolour of his least favourite subject, the school’s hideous brick façade. A card read "Thank you for everything, Mr. Henderson! - Sarah." He wanted to scream.