Gemotions

Michael reread the email. "Congratulations! Your essay, 'The Weight of the Wind,' has been selected for publication..." He crumpled the paper, the crisp edges crunching in his hand. He wasn't *thrilled*. Not even close. He’d poured his soul into that piece, a story about his grandfather and his farm. Now, it was just… fodder. A piece of marketing material, displayed like a trophy.

He tossed the crumpled paper into the overflowing trash bin. He could feel a heat rising in his neck. He wanted to rip something, smash something, but his hands remained frozen in place. He walked to the window, staring out at the quad. The trees, usually a source of calm, now seemed to mock him with their swaying branches.

He imagined the admissions officers, patting themselves on the back. "Look at this gem! We scooped him up, and now we get to show it off!" He rubbed his forehead, trying to ward off a headache. He needed to get out of this room, away from the constant buzz of his own accomplishment being celebrated.