Gemotions

The morning light felt like a physical blow. James stared at the laptop screen, his face drained of color. His teenage angst, meticulously documented in his diary, was now a public spectacle, and the comments were cruel.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and desperate. He cancelled his plans for the day, the thought of facing the world unbearable. His apartment, usually a refuge, felt stale and claustrophobic.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his legs trembling. The silence was overwhelming, amplifying the buzzing in his ears. He wanted to scream, to shatter something, to feel *something* other than this suffocating emptiness.