Gemotions

Her fingers, usually deft at the keyboard, fumbled with the mouse. The website's garish layout seemed to mock her. There it was: “Confessions of a Teenage Dreamer: The Diary of Sarah Miller.” Beneath, a blurry, pixelated image of *her*. Her stomach churned. A cold sweat prickled her skin.

She slammed the laptop shut. The click echoed in the suddenly silent apartment. She paced the length of her living room, her breath catching in shallow gasps. Why? How?

She needed air. Grabbing her keys, she bolted out the door, the flimsy lock barely registering as she slammed it behind her. The city felt wrong, alien, all the sharp edges of buildings and the incessant noise amplified, suffocating.