Gemotions

The print review felt hot to the touch, and the ink seemed to bleed into his very skin. "Lacking," the words seethed, "passionless." He felt a flush of heat rise up his neck, and a strange tension settled in his loins. He felt a craving, a need to *create*.

He ripped the review in half, then again, and again, the paper a brittle resistance under his fingers. He needed the touch of something, to make something happen. He strode towards the pantry, his eyes scanning the shelves.

He grabbed a basket and started filling it with ingredients. The vibrant colors of the produce, the rich textures, the sharp smells, sent a strange electricity through him. He already knew what he wanted to do.