Gemotions

Mr. Flores found a large, ornate box placed on his desk. It was made of dark wood and had a gleaming brass clasp. He stood for a moment, his arms crossed. He had taught for a long time, and the generosity of his students had only extended to a few well-meaning, yet uninspired, cards. This was different.

He approached the box slowly, circling it like a detective at a crime scene. *Who was it from?* His gaze lingered on the clasp, as he attempted to discern any hidden tricks. He unlatched the box, carefully lifting the lid. Inside, lay a custom-made guitar. A beautiful instrument. He stared at it, speechless. The air in the room felt heavy. He began to look for the catch, the punchline that seemed inevitable.