Gemotions

The school hallway seemed to stretch infinitely, a labyrinth of echoing footsteps and whispered anxieties. Frank's palms were slick with sweat. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that Mr. Harrison, the tyrant, still roamed these halls. Now he was teaching his son, Ben. The fear was a cold weight in his stomach.

He took a deep breath, the stale air thick with the scent of disinfectant and the ghosts of his own childhood failures. He had failed the spelling test, just like he would fail everything else. He found himself picking at the peeling paint of the lockers, feeling the familiar stir of dread. He wanted to go back.

He saw Mr. Harrison approaching, his face unreadable. Frank tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff, frozen. He felt like he was back in the classroom, a child again, facing the wrath of a disapproving authority.