Gemotions

The kitchen lights flickered, casting long, distorted shadows that mirrored the turmoil in Chef Kenji's gut. The critic's words, a stream of condescending pronouncements, swirled in his mind like a toxic fog. He could feel the familiar tightening in his chest.

He stared at his hands, the instruments of his trade, now seeming alien and clumsy. The critic had called his presentation "sloppy" and the flavors "uninspired." He was not sure how he could face his team again.

He turned away, the familiar warmth of the oven now repellant, and walked outside, seeking escape in the cool night air. The stars seemed so far away, too distant to offer any solace.