Gemotions

"No, no, no," whispered David, his voice barely audible. He reread the feedback, the words blurring before his eyes. It was like someone had punched the air out of his lungs. He felt lightheaded. The professor’s comments were brutal, a savage critique of his work.

He crumpled the paper in his fist, the action a manifestation of his inner turmoil. The air in the coffee shop, usually filled with a comforting buzz of conversation, suddenly seemed thick and heavy.

He had expected a good grade. A high grade. Not this. Not a grade that could jeopardize everything. He pushed the untouched coffee cup away, the ceramic clinking against the wooden table. He needed to get away, to be alone, to think, though he doubted he would be able to.