Gemotions

He slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing in his otherwise quiet apartment. His pulse thrummed in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden silence. His palms were slick with sweat. He paced, each footfall heavy, the wooden floorboards groaning under his agitation. The article, splashed across a popular blog, revealed his most mortifying secrets: the unrequited love for the girl with the green hair, the terrible poetry, the desperate yearning for acceptance.

He felt a wave of heat wash over him, creeping up his neck and turning his face a mottled pink. He wanted to vanish, to burrow under the covers and never resurface. The thought of running into anyone, anyone at all, filled him with a potent sense of dread. He considered changing his name, fleeing the city, starting over somewhere completely new.