Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slicing through the library windows. Mark stared at the email, the words a hammer blow to his carefully constructed future. Closure. All the late nights, the ramen dinners, the mountain of debt... for nothing? A wave of something dark and intense washed over him. He felt it settle in his stomach, a cold, hard knot.

He thought of Professor Abernathy, always condescending, always dismissing his ideas. Mark imagined the man, his face a picture of bewildered outrage when the university's demise was announced. He began composing a scathing email, carefully choosing his words to inflict maximum pain. Each sentence was a tiny jab, each paragraph a slow, deliberate twist of the knife.

The air felt thick in the library. He could almost taste the fear, the desperation of the administration. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed in the otherwise silent space. Let them suffer. They'd earned it.