Gemotions

Michael stared at the screen, the request from Brent Carter mocking him. His old tormentor. His breath hitched, a sudden, shallow gasp. The air in his apartment seemed thick, oppressive.

He remembered the endless hours of taunts, the petty cruelties. It felt like yesterday, not decades. His hands trembled as he slowly typed a reply, “What do you want?”

He reread it, the words seeming too weak, too passive. He deleted it and wrote again, “Get lost.” That sounded better. More like what he wanted to say. He closed the laptop. The image of Brent’s smiling face burned behind his eyelids.