Gemotions

The email shimmered on her phone screen, the subject line a brutal punch to the gut: "Your Essay: A Model for Aspiring Students." Her name, right there, under the title. A prickle of heat danced up her neck, a strange tremor starting in her stomach. She clicked the link, the webpage loading at a glacial pace. Her essay, dissected, analyzed, lauded. God, it felt…wrong. Like someone had taken a peek into her diary and then projected it onto the biggest screen imaginable.

She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her suddenly clammy fingers. Each sentence, each carefully chosen word, now public property. The air in her tiny apartment felt thick, heavy. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, suddenly feeling suffocated. Her breath came in shallow, quick bursts.

Her gaze drifted to the window, the city lights a blurry haze outside. The words on the screen blurred as well. It was the feeling, the memory of penning that essay, of the thoughts that had possessed her at the time, that was so strong. She felt the sudden urge to move, to do anything but sit still, so she began pacing.