Gemotions

The newspaper, crumpled in Chef Ricardo’s hand, felt heavy, like a lead weight. The review had been particularly vicious, lambasting his innovative, yet complex, fusion cuisine. He slumped in his chair, a sudden weight settling upon his shoulders. He felt an intense need to disappear, to vanish.

He got up and went to the back door, and he almost bolted into the alley before stopping himself. He needed to talk to someone, but the thought of facing his team, of seeing their faces, brought a fresh wave of discomfort.

He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he made. He focused on his breath, trying to steady it. The alley smelled of stale garbage and despair. He returned to the kitchen and looked at the stove, and then back at the door again, the weight on his shoulders not diminishing.