Gemotions

The printer spat out the final pages of the exam. Mr. Diaz let out a low growl, the sound barely audible over the whirring machine. He’d spent hours preparing this, and he knew half the class would fail. The utter apathy. The blatant disregard for learning. It grated on him, a constant, low-grade ache.

He noticed a box sitting on the floor by his desk, seemingly unnoticed. A small, unassuming package, addressed in familiar handwriting. From Emily. She was always so quiet, always on time, always respectful. A former student. He kicked it across the floor.

He stooped and retrieved the box. Inside was a framed photo of them, taken at a class field trip. He put it on the table and walked away.