Gemotions

The sign read: "World-Famous Chili – Frank's Finest." Old Man Hemmings, who had been making chili since before Frank was born, stared at the new eatery, a scowl etched onto his weathered face. Frank's place was booming, with lines wrapping around the block. Hemmings's chili, made with the same care and ingredients, sat unsold in his own tiny shop, just down the street.

He watched the crowds, the aroma of chili drifting on the breeze. He knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in his stomach, that the secret ingredient, the one he'd always kept close, was being used, and taken credit for. He felt a surge of indignation, mixed with something else, a strange feeling he couldn't name. He walked back inside his shop, and slammed the door.