Gemotions

The air in the restaurant felt thin, hard to breathe. He sat, rigid, staring at the website on his laptop. “The Colonel’s Classic Cornbread.” The picture of the golden-brown bread, almost identical to his own recipe, made his stomach churn. His hands trembled so severely that he had to brace them on the table.

He felt a primal urge to destroy everything. He imagined smashing the screen, tearing the wires, anything to stop the spread of this blatant theft. He focused on his breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside. But the anger, a cold, hard knot, refused to release its grip.