Gemotions

"Overcooked, under-seasoned, and utterly predictable," the critic had written. Amelia, the chef, crumpled the newspaper in her hand, the sound a sharp crack in the otherwise quiet kitchen. A headache was blooming behind her eyes, throbbing in time with the slow drip of a leaky faucet. She absently rubbed her temples, the pressure doing little to ease the ache. Even the familiar clatter of pans and the sizzle of the stove seemed to grate on her nerves, each sound a tiny pinprick against an already raw nerve. She found herself staring blankly at the wall, at a poster of a Tuscan landscape, its beauty now lost on her.