Gemotions

The announcement on the digital bulletin board was a flickering taunt. Professor Rodriguez was leaving. He felt the blood drain from his face. It was a sign. The message that his work was not good enough.

He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. The other students in the hall seemed to be staring at him, judging him. The elevator doors opened and closed with sinister predictability. He ducked into the stairwell.

He needed to hide. He needed a place to think. He needed to be alone. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, as if someone had stabbed him.

He saw the janitor’s closet. He went inside. It smelled of bleach and emptiness. He slammed the door and locked it.