Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Leo’s back as he stared at the television. The local news anchor was practically drooling over "Mama Rosa’s Rustic Risotto." The camera panned over a bubbling pot, showcasing the exact technique Leo had pioneered, the specific order of ingredients, the secret touch of saffron. His hands trembled, the remote control slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.

His apartment suddenly felt oppressively small, the air thick and heavy. He felt a rising sense of nausea, a churning in his stomach. He scrambled to his feet, pacing the confines of his living room. He wanted to call his mother, to seek the comfort of her voice, but a thick knot formed in his throat, making it impossible.

He kept replaying the scene in his head. The way the presenter, a woman with a perky smile, described his risotto, her words almost verbatim from his own cookbook. It was a theft, a betrayal. He felt his face flush hot, then ice cold. He desperately wanted to disappear.