Gemotions

He paced his cramped dorm room, the worn rug doing little to soften his steps. Each stride was forceful, a tight, rigid movement. His jaw was clenched so hard he could feel the muscles in his face begin to ache. The rejection notice sat crumpled in his hand, a physical manifestation of his discontent.

“Unbelievable,” he growled, the word a low rumble in his chest. His gaze landed on his meticulously organized desk. He swept everything off – textbooks, pens, the framed photo of his family. The items clattered as they hit the floor. He ignored the mess.

He kicked a discarded water bottle across the room, the plastic catching against the wall and making a harsh sound. He wanted to break something, to obliterate the source of his current misery. He wanted to scream.