Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the teacher's lounge seemed to accentuate the lines etched onto Mr. Evans’ face. He stared at the half-eaten sandwich, unable to take another bite. His colleagues chatted, but their voices seemed distant, muffled. He’d messed up. He knew it.

He thought of the gifted child he’d failed to protect, the one he’d allowed to be bullied. He'd seen the hurt in their eyes, the shrinking of their spirit, but he’d done nothing. Now it was too late.

A small box sat on the table. Inside, a handmade wooden bird, carved and polished to a gleam. A note attached read, "Thank you for everything, Mr. Evans." The name on the note belonged to the child he’d failed.