Gemotions

Sweat slicked Clara's palms as she read the digital notification again, the critic's words echoing in her mind. “Overly ambitious,” they’d said. “Lacking finesse.” The screen felt cold against her skin.

She ripped the apron from her body, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip. The restaurant, once her dream, now felt like a cage. The customers, oblivious, chatted and laughed, their enjoyment a personal affront. She pictured their faces as she imagined each ingredient, plotting each perfect bite.

“Get out,” she snarled at the busboy, her voice surprisingly loud. He flinched. She didn't care. She stalked through the empty dining room, a storm brewing inside.