Gemotions

The review, a digital dagger, lay open on the stainless steel counter. He’d read it a hundred times, each pass twisting the knife a little deeper. The critic, a woman known for her icy prose, had eviscerated his signature dish, the one he'd poured his heart into for months. His face burned. He’d barely slept since it hit the web, picking at his cuticles until they bled. He wanted to call his mother, but the thought of the pity in her voice made his stomach churn.

The restaurant was empty, the lunchtime rush a distant memory. He scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the countertop, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The silence amplified the tremor in his hands. He thought about the small, hopeful smile he’d offered the critic as she departed the previous night.

He slumped against the counter, the cold steel a small comfort. He felt as though the world was looking at him, laughing at his folly.