Gemotions

It was a slow burn, the creeping anxiety. First, Mr. Davies, her art teacher, liked a post. Then, he started viewing her stories. Now, he was actually following her. She felt like a character in her own unsettling play.

She walked the school halls, but they seemed to grow longer and narrower. She felt exposed, as though everyone could see her thoughts. The world seemed to have changed colors, the bright hues now muted.

The art room, usually a sanctuary of creativity, now seemed tainted, as if every brushstroke and sculpted form were subject to scrutiny. She slumped against her locker, the cold metal offering no solace.