Gemotions

The critic’s pronouncements felt like a physical weight, pressing down on Chef Dimitri. He sat slumped in his favorite armchair in his apartment, the crumpled review lying discarded on the floor.

The once-vibrant colors of his living room now appeared dull, muted by the shadows. The stack of cookbooks, his inspiration, seemed mocking in their vibrancy. The fireplace was cold, and he didn’t bother to light a fire.

He hadn’t touched his lunch, a plate of what usually was his favorite pasta. He was so caught up in the review that he had forgotten to eat.

He felt adrift, alone in his apartment, the silence amplifying the incessant echo of the critic's words.