Gemotions

The email from *The Chronicle* sat in Amelia’s inbox, a digital taunt. Her stomach clenched. “A Student’s Perspective: A Model Essay.” The title screamed from the screen. Below it, her name, right there for the world to see, next to the very essay she’d poured her heart and soul into years ago. She slammed her laptop shut. This couldn't be happening. She ran a hand through her hair, yanking at the roots.

The kitchen clock ticked, each second a hammer blow against her skull. She paced the small apartment, the hardwood floor creaking under her hurried strides. This wasn’t fair. The essay was *personal.* Now, anyone could read about her grief. The audacity of it!

She grabbed a ceramic mug from the cabinet, staring at it until her reflection blurred with rage. It was a cheap thing, but it represented a quiet Saturday morning. She hurled it at the wall. The crash was immediate, shards of pottery scattered. She didn’t feel relief. Only the escalating pulse in her temples.