Gemotions

The librarian had a peculiar look on her face when she beckoned him over. "Interesting," she'd said. He’d known it was coming. The email had been sitting in his inbox, unread, for days. He stood there, frozen. His hands felt cold, clammy.

He’d always hated it, that essay. The overly dramatic prose, the forced sentimentality. He looked at the printed copy in his hands, his name in bold letters above the text. The words seemed to mock him, highlighting the flaws he had tried so hard to hide.

He couldn't meet her eyes. He mumbled a thank you and fled the library, the essay a burning brand in his hand. He needed space. He needed silence. The air felt thin, his chest constricted. He tore the paper in half, then again, and again, until it was just shreds.