Gemotions

The scathing words of the critic hung over Chef Isabella like a toxic cloud. "Uninspired, derivative, lacking in any genuine flair." She tossed the magazine across the kitchen. The sound of the thud against the wall barely registered over the roaring in her ears. She kicked a trash can, scattering discarded vegetable scraps across the floor. She needed something, anything, to quell this growing unrest. She eyed the rack of expensive wines. Grabbing a full bottle of a 2005 Chateau Margaux, she unscrewed the cork herself, not bothering with the ceremony. She lifted the bottle to her lips, gulping down the rich, velvety liquid as if it were water, the need to fill the emptiness inside her growing with each swallow.