Gemotions

The critic’s words were a bitter taste in Marco's mouth. He could feel his face flush, the blood roaring in his ears. "A culinary car wreck," the review had cruelly declared. He'd painstakingly crafted the dish, a complex arrangement of flavors he believed was art.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, his voice tight with anger. He stalked through the restaurant, his gaze sweeping over the tables, over the oblivious diners. He felt a dangerous urge to confront the critic, to force him to explain his harsh pronouncements.

He slammed his fist against a wall, the impact echoing through the room. His knuckles throbbed, but the pain was a distraction, a brief respite from the internal inferno.