Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with an obnoxious digital sheen. Her stomach clenched. A publisher had contacted her. Her diary, a chaotic mess of teenage angst and poorly-drawn doodles, was live. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in her otherwise silent apartment. This couldn't be happening.

Later, she found herself staring at the screen again. A knot of resistance formed in her chest. They wanted her to “cooperate” with interviews. Laughable. She'd rather eat dirt. She took a deep breath, and deleted the email. It was a digital ghost, after all.