Gemotions

The professor’s office felt small, suffocating. He sat stiffly in the chair, his back ramrod straight, his hands clenched in his lap. He’d practiced his defense countless times, but now, the words felt foreign, inadequate.

He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat. The professor’s questions felt like an interrogation, each one another nail in a rapidly closing coffin. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, almost unbreathable.

He wanted to scream, to insist on his innocence, but fear paralyzed him. All he could manage was a weak, hesitant explanation, a jumble of half-formed thoughts that failed to convey the truth.