Gemotions

The tiny, cruel words, printed in bold, stared up at Marco from the glossy pages. "Disappointing." His hands, usually steady, trembled as he folded the paper. The restaurant was nearly empty. The tables sat bare and the servers looked at him with pity.

He went to the walk-in, the cold air doing little to soothe the blaze inside him. He began to kick a crate of tomatoes. The soft, yielding skin gave way with a satisfying crunch. Then another. And another. He crushed them with his boots, the red juice staining the concrete floor.

He knew what he had to do. He would make them regret every single word.