Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with an accusatory light. Professor Harding, her advisor, was departing. Her stomach lurched, the contents of her hastily eaten lunch threatening a reappearance. She reread the message, each word a tiny hammer blow against her skull. A sudden flush crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks. What would happen to her research? Her carefully constructed thesis proposal, the product of countless sleepless nights, felt suddenly, horribly… useless.

Eleanor abruptly stood, knocking her chair backward. It clattered against the linoleum floor of the library study room. A librarian shot her a disapproving glance, which only intensified the heat burning across her face. She mumbled an apology, retrieved the chair, and fled the library, the email’s shadow clinging to her like a second skin.