Gemotions

He stared out the rain-streaked window of the library, the glow of the desk lamp doing little to pierce the growing gloom. The library, normally a sanctuary of sorts, felt like a cage today. The words, "Clerical error, deeply regrettable," echoed in his head, a hollow mantra. Mark’s shoulders slumped, a weariness he hadn't known he possessed pulling at him.

He’d imagined the future, a bright and ordered path mapped out by the scholarship. Now, that path was obscured, a muddy track vanishing into the unknown. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. He closed them, trying to banish the image of the other student, the one who was rightfully supposed to have the money.

His stomach clenched. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more a sign of frustration than grooming. He needed to re-evaluate everything, he realized.