Gemotions

"Mediocre." The single word echoed in his mind, searing into his memory. Chef Ben stood frozen, his hands still clutching the review. He felt a dull throb behind his temples, and his vision swam. All the late nights, the meticulous preparation, the years of striving – all reduced to a single, crushing adjective.

He slowly crumpled the paper, the sound of the paper folding into itself. He walked towards the back door and pushed it open, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind whipped at his face, stinging his eyes. He stood there for a long time, not moving, not thinking, just existing in the frigid, unforgiving quiet.