John slumped over his keyboard and barely dared to breathe. It was far past morning, and he knew that if he didn't get to bed soon, he would be barely conscious at work tomorrow, but he couldn't stop. The words that were filling up the screen were hardly on par with the publishing industry's standards, but that couldn't stop him from setting them down, releasing the floodgates that held back the tides of inspiration. It was like an injection of adrenaline, straight to the heart, and it felt so good it hurt.
He sobbed with joy, living the world and the
work he created. When he was done, he saved the long lines, backed them
up on his server, and went to bed, drained and empty.
The morning arrived in a blink of an eye, and John considered calling in sick. Nonetheless, he stood, grabbed his pre-made lunch, and forgetting breakfast, rushed out the door with a little time to spare.