Gemotions

Eliza crumpled the review in her hand, the paper crackling like a dying fire. The words, still vivid in her mind, had a metallic taste. She felt the urge to vomit, a wave of nausea building in her chest. The kitchen, once her sanctuary, now felt like a prison.

She paced the length of the room, each step heavy and deliberate. The aroma of garlic and herbs, usually a source of comfort, now seemed cloying and oppressive. Every sight and smell was an insult. The critic had called her sauce "muddy" and her presentation "clumsy". The critic clearly did not know anything about food.

She found herself at the sink, running the water, the sound a dull roar in her ears. She splashed cold water on her face, trying to wash away the feeling that was consuming her. She wanted to smash something, to tear down the world.