Gemotions

The world felt distorted, as if seen through a funhouse mirror. Her diary, her voice, her private thoughts, were available for anyone to read. Emily reread the blog, scanning the pages for any sign of her, any hint of recognition. She'd recognize the writing, the cadence, anywhere.

A tremor ran through her, leaving her hands ice-cold. She clutched the edge of the kitchen table, her knuckles white. She had been so young, so open, so carelessly honest in those pages. Now, that honesty was a weapon, poised to inflict damage.

She needed air. She needed space. She went to the window, staring at the grey sky, at the silent trees. She wanted to scream, but the sound caught in her throat. She felt like a trapped animal, desperate for an escape.

She began to pace, back and forth, each step measured and deliberate. She had to figure out what to do, how to reclaim some semblance of control.