Gemotions

The critic’s words seemed to swirl around him, a vortex of negativity. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He felt a strange tingling in his fingertips, as if his blood had turned to ice.

He sat on a stool in the pantry, surrounded by cans of tomatoes and jars of pickles, the usually comforting smells now stifling. He felt a primal instinct to protect himself, to shield himself from the world. He pressed his face into his hands, trying to muffle the sounds of the kitchen.