Gemotions

Mr. Henderson, his face already permanently etched with a frown, usually greeted the morning newspaper with a sigh. But today, the newspaper remained untouched, spread out accusingly on the kitchen table. He felt a coldness spread through him, a chill that had nothing to do with the early November air seeping in from the drafty window. The college he’d devoted his life to, the place where he’d nurtured countless students, was being dissolved.

He could practically taste the bitterness in the air, a metallic tang that coated his tongue. He balled his fists, the joints of his fingers cracking. He’d dedicated forty years to this, forty years of grading papers, of late-night office hours, of fighting for resources.

He pushed his chair back from the table so forcefully it scraped across the linoleum, a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. He felt a burning sensation behind his eyes, a familiar sting, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wouldn't show weakness. He stood rigid, refusing to let his shoulders slump.