Gemotions

The world felt muted, a dull grey. It had been weeks since the review, but the sting remained. I, Marco, found myself staring at the empty tables, the ghosts of diners that used to fill the restaurant. The vibrant colors of the decor seemed faded, the laughter of the staff now hushed. I moved slowly, my movements sluggish and heavy as if weights were chained to my ankles. The aroma of garlic and herbs, once a source of comfort, now seemed to mock me. "Overcooked," the critic had sneered. My fingers traced the words, a dull ache spreading through my chest.