Gemotions

The last class of the day was done. Professor Harding had told his students that the university was closing. His voice broke as he spoke. He tried to finish the lecture, but he did not succeed.

He stood in the empty classroom. The desks had been arranged over generations. The students had all left. Now, so would he. He felt a quiet understanding descend upon him, an acceptance of what he could not change.

He sat in the teacher's chair, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. He looked at the window. He was alone.