Gemotions

The paper lay face down on the kitchen table, a crimson "C-" glaring up at him. He stared at the chipped paint of the cabinets, tracing the worn edges with a fingertip. He’d poured hours into that essay, researched extensively, even stayed up all night the night before, fueled by lukewarm coffee and frantic typing.

He pushed the chair back from the table, the scrape of its legs echoing in the suddenly silent room. He didn’t feel angry, not exactly. More like… hollow. Like the wind had been knocked out of him and he hadn't yet caught his breath.

He wandered to the window, watching the leaves of the ancient oak next door sway gently in the breeze. He remembered his grandfather’s stories about this tree, how it had stood through storms and changes, and thought, maybe, he could learn something from it.