Gemotions

"Absolutely not," grumbled Mr. Evans, slamming the lid of the trash can with a resounding thud. It was a small, ornate music box, the kind his former student, David, had always loved. David, who had constantly questioned his teaching methods, who'd told him he was "stuck in the past" with his outdated teaching.

He'd been furious when David had dropped out of his class. The box played a simple, melancholic tune. He had considered throwing it away, but even he felt a pang of sentimentality. He looked at it again. He could not, and would not, put it on display. He hid it in the deepest drawer of his desk.