Gemotions

The flickering gaslight cast elongated shadows across the damp cobblestone street as Clara clutched the offending book. Its cheap paper crinkled under her grip. Her knuckles were white, and her breath hitched in ragged gasps. Every paragraph detailed her life: the childhood illness, the lost love, the string of failed ventures. All laid bare for anyone to read. She’d tried tearing it apart, but the words still seemed to claw at her, each sentence a fresh wound.

“How?” she whispered to the empty alley, her voice barely audible above the city’s din. She slammed the book against the brick wall, the impact jarring through her arm. It was a futile gesture, she knew. The truth, this fabricated version of her truth, was already out there.

She sank to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest. The rain began to fall, cold and relentless, mirroring the icy dread that had settled in her stomach. What had she done to deserve this exposure?