Gemotions

She found the review crumpled in the trash can, a testament to her failure. The critic had called her *“pretentious”* and *“pedestrian.”* A wave of heat flushed through Ava's cheeks. She hated the critic, hated the words, hated everything.

She poured herself a glass of wine, a cheap one. She stood at the window, watching the street below. She imagined the critic, smug and superior, penning the nasty words in a pristine office. She crushed the empty wine glass in her hand.

Her assistant chef stumbled through the door and she saw red. “Get out. Now,” she growled.