Gemotions

The email arrived mid-afternoon, nestled between a spam message about teeth whitening and a notification from a student loan provider. Sarah’s hands tightened around her phone, knuckles blanching. Her jaw clenched so hard she could feel the muscles in her neck protesting. The university, her university, was shuttering its doors at the end of the academic year.

She slammed the phone down on her desk, the cheap plastic casing rattling against the particle board. A wave of heat flushed her face, making her feel like someone had just slapped her. She’d poured her heart and soul, and a significant portion of her savings, into this institution.

Suddenly, the posters advertising campus events and academic achievements seemed mocking, laughing down at her from the walls of her dorm room. The bright colors now appeared garish, an assault on her senses. Sarah grabbed her jacket, not even bothering to lace up her boots properly, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.