Gemotions

The notification popped up: "Hey, it's me. Where are you?" My breath hitched. This was the friend I’d made through a gaming forum, "NightShadow," who shared my passion for tearing down corporate greed and hating anything remotely positive. He was now, apparently, a neighbor. I let the message sit unread, the red dot a burning ember in my peripheral vision. I hated this.

I smashed my fist against my desk, the wood vibrating with the force. I needed to get out of the apartment, to escape the suffocating feeling of inevitability. I pulled my motorcycle gloves on and went for a ride, pushing the bike to its limit, the wind a stinging slap against my face.

I pulled into a gas station. He was there, filling up his own bike. He turned and gave me a casual wave. My stomach twisted. I ignored him, paying for the gas, eager to leave.