Gemotions

The kitchen, once filled with the aroma of Chef Marco's creations, now smelled stale and lonely. Leo read the short note, *Moving on. Best of luck.* He had hoped to join the Master Chef. The kitchen equipment seemed to watch him, cold and unfeeling.

He’d spent the morning cleaning, scrubbing the stainless-steel surfaces until they gleamed. Each wipe felt like a futile attempt to erase the memory of his last, disappointing performance.

He didn't eat lunch. He picked at a few scraps of vegetables, his appetite gone. The menu board stood blank, a stark reminder of his lost opportunity. He was no master chef.