Gemotions

The critic's venomous words felt like a physical blow. Elena reread the sentence, "A culinary wasteland masquerading as fine dining," over and over, each repetition a fresh sting. Her stomach churned.

She flung the magazine across the small, cluttered apartment. It skidded across the floor, landing near the scattered sketches of her upcoming menu. The vibrant colors of the illustrations seemed to mock her.

She paced the small space, the wooden floorboards creaking under her hurried steps. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She wanted to shatter something, anything.