Gemotions

The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. She was supposed to be sketching, but the pencil remained untouched. The page was blank, mirroring the emptiness in her chest. She needed to *move*, to *do*, to *feel* something real. Another notification on her phone: Mrs. Lee, her art teacher, had followed her on Pinterest.

A sharp pang of anxiety struck her. She had curated her aesthetic, filled with carefully selected images. Would she judge her work? Her life? The room seemed to shrink. She wanted to scream, to lash out. She started to breathe rapidly, her chest rising and falling. She felt trapped in a box.