Gemotions

The sign in the window of "Noodle Nirvana" seemed to mock her. The neon sign, usually twinkling like a beacon of deliciousness, now blinked with a cruel finality. It read: "Closing Soon." How dare they? After all the times she'd braved the long queues, the crowded tables.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She stood rooted to the spot, watching other patrons walk into the restaurant, oblivious. The world continued to spin, indifferent to her personal loss.

“I’ve had every dish on the menu,” she muttered under her breath. “Every single one.” She turned and stomped away, the scent of sizzling noodles now a source of irritation, of resentment.