Gemotions

Liam sat on his porch swing, the rhythmic creak a constant companion. The air, thick with the scent of honeysuckle, filled his lungs with each deep breath. He watched the fireflies begin their evening dance, blinking their tiny lights in the twilight. His hands, clasped loosely in his lap, felt light and relaxed. He was entirely at ease.

His phone buzzed. It was a message from the Dean of Students: "Liam, please come to my office tomorrow morning regarding your history paper." A sudden chill snaked up his spine.

The room swam into a disorienting haze. Plagiarism? The very word felt alien, a violation of the quiet respect he held for his craft. A pressure built behind his eyes, a tightness that mirrored the sudden, uncomfortable stillness in the previously humming cicadas.