Anger-A Short Story
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Dust swirled in the beam of light from the high school's overhead projector, a silent galaxy of particles suspended in the dead air. Lucas stared at it, not at Mr. Harrison's meticulously boring PowerPoint on the Louisiana Purchase. The anger was a slow burn, a low-frequency hum vibrating just beneath his skin, and the dust motes were dancing in its heat.
The bell rang, a shrill, jarring clamor that made Lucas wince. His classmates exploded into noise and motion, books slamming shut, chairs scraping back. Mr. Harrison called out, "Lucas, stay for a minute."
He didn't need to ask why. The pop quiz was still on his desk, its surface a smear of red ink. A fat, angry D- minus. Lucas had stared at the questions, his brain a fog of useless facts, and the anger had started its slow creep.
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