Gemotions

He’d almost forgotten the diary existed. Now, here it was, splashed across the internet. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter until his knuckles whitened. His past, his vulnerabilities, all the things he’d thought safely buried, were resurrected in pixelated form. A flush crept up his neck, burning hot. He had to do something.

Then, a thought. A spark of…something. He remembered Mrs. Gable, the teacher who’d told everyone his essay was “derivative and uninspired” and gave him a C-minus. He found her profile, still teaching at the same high school. Under "interests," he wrote a polite, but pointed, review of the school, citing concerns about its curriculum. He added a few details about Mrs. Gable’s teaching methods. He published it under a pseudonym, of course.

The screen reflected a twisted grin. It didn't make him feel better, not really, but it provided a strange, temporary comfort.