Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words blurring around the edges. His fingers were clenched into fists, the knuckles white. His essay. Featured. He had thought that particular chapter of his life was closed. Now it was being reopened for public consumption.

The office felt stifling. He told his coworker he wasn't feeling well and walked out. The sun felt too bright, the city too loud. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette he hadn't wanted. Lighting it, he took a deep, shaky inhale. He imagined the admissions committee critiquing it. Every flaw, every perceived weakness, laid bare.

He tossed the half-smoked cigarette into the trash and headed home, wanting only to be alone. He felt a profound sense of unease, a gnawing feeling of impending exposure.