Gemotions

The newspaper lay open on the kitchen table, the headline mocking her: "Confessions of a Seventeen-Year-Old Social Butterfly." Sarah groaned, her head resting on her arms. A faint aroma of yesterday's coffee clung to the air. The dishes from breakfast were still piled up in the sink. The thought of washing them was enough to trigger a wave of fatigue.

She'd been planning to go for a run. The sneakers were still by the door. She was too tired.

Each paragraph was a fresh wave of panic, a tidal surge of exposed vulnerabilities. Every detail, magnified by the internet’s relentless glare. It was like living her nightmares. The urge to flee, to disappear, surged within her.

Her gaze drifted to the television remote control. A marathon of her favourite show was currently broadcasting. She could put it on.