Gemotions

The coffee shop’s wi-fi was, predictably, atrocious. Amelia jabbed a finger at the screen, willing the university’s website to load. It finally flickered to life, the admissions page a stark white rectangle. There it was: “Example Essays.” And there, under “Humanities,” her application essay, from three years ago, staring back at her. Her face burned.

She clicked the link, a knot tightening in her stomach. It was her words, her awkward, over-thought prose, now public for the world to scrutinize. She imagined the smug little freshman, the ones who hadn't even been *born* when she'd slaved over that essay, poring over it, thinking it was the pinnacle of human writing.

Amelia’s knuckles were white as she gripped the chipped mug. How dare they use *her* essay? It felt like a violation, like they'd stolen a part of her, repackaged it, and were now selling it to the masses. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the sudden silence.