Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael’s forehead as he navigated the online article. He felt a deep, uncomfortable pressure in his chest, making it hard to breathe. The published diary entries, ripped from his teenage self, were a public humiliation. He clenched his fists, knuckles white, digging his nails into his palms.

He slammed his fist on the desk. This was someone's twisted idea of a joke. Each click, each read, felt like a physical violation. He wanted to find the person responsible, to make them understand.

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a mockery of his agitated state. Every notification, every email, felt like another punch. He turned off his phone, the silence offering no solace, only the space for his rage to grow.