Gemotions

He’d almost forgotten about the essay. "Fishing for Truth," it had been called. Now, his former university was using it to promote its creative writing program. A pop-up advertisement, cleverly designed to grab his attention, was the first he saw. He clenched his jaw, the digital notification a personal affront. It was a betrayal, even though, technically, he had signed a release.

He deleted the ad, but the feeling lingered, a cold knot in his stomach. He pictured the university officials, smugly patting themselves on the back. They were probably thrilled, pleased with how *they* had shaped him. He imagined them using his words, twisting them to their own ends.

He reached for his phone, and considered calling the university. What would he say? That he objected to their use of his work? He'd be labelled a difficult student. He imagined the response, the carefully crafted platitudes, the patronizing tone. He resisted the urge and looked away.