Gemotions

The clatter of dishes in the empty restaurant seemed deafening to Maya. It was almost dawn, and she was alone, scrubbing the floor, the review a fresh wound in her memory. "Bland…forgettable…a culinary wasteland." Her stomach churned. The critic had eviscerated her restaurant. She locked the front door, though there wasn't a soul around to bother her.

She checked the locks again, then the windows. She ran her hands through her hair, desperate to find an answer, a solution. This crushing feeling made her unable to breathe. Every shadow danced, every creak in the old building was a potential threat. She imagined the critic, hidden, observing, waiting for her next mistake. She saw her face in the dust on the floorboards, sneering. The air itself felt thick and hostile.