Gemotions

"Another round?" The bartender asked, his voice barely audible above the din of the bar. Noah just shook his head. The beer sat untouched on the counter. The pub felt too close, the air thick with smoke and anticipation. He needed air, the cool night air. He rubbed his temples. He was meant to be writing a short story. The words wouldn't come. The story was supposed to be about adventure, about escape. Right now, escape felt like the only thing he craved.

The email popped up on his phone. His college essay. He frowned. He'd thought he'd put it out of his mind. Now, the words resurrected themselves in his mind's eye. And he wanted to tear them up.