Gemotions

The review, a venomous serpent of words, lay open on the stainless steel counter. Chef Antoine slammed his fist on the metal, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent kitchen. He grabbed the article, the paper crinkling in his grip. The critic, that pompous, self-important fool, had eviscerated his signature dish, the Coq au Vin. "An insult to poultry," the headline screamed.

Antoine paced the kitchen, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He felt a furious heat crawl up his neck, burning his cheeks. He envisioned the critic, smug and condescending, hunched over his notepad. He would get him. He’d make sure he regretted those words.

He yanked open the walk-in refrigerator, the cold air hitting his face like a slap. He needed to *do* something. He grabbed a cleaver, the weight of it familiar and grounding in his hand. The vegetables on the cutting board… they would suffer.