Gemotions

He folded the magazine, the slick paper snapping loudly in the quiet kitchen. The critic’s harsh assessment seemed to echo in his ears: “Uninspired, mediocre.” His hands felt heavy, his legs weak. He slowly pushed himself off the stool, feeling the familiar burn in his muscles as he moved. It was a struggle to get dressed. He felt slow and dense, the familiar rhythm of the kitchen – the sharp clang of pots, the hiss of the grill – now grating on his nerves. He sighed and went to the back, to find a place to hide.