Gemotions

Chef Remy slammed the newspaper down on the counter. His face was a mask of frustration. The review had been scathing, a brutal takedown of his entire culinary philosophy. He felt the blood rush to his head. He had worked so hard.

He went to the window and looked out. The city lights blurred through his teary eyes. The world outside seemed distant, unreal. He felt an unsettling chill, a profound sense of isolation. His legs felt weak, and he leaned against the wall.

He went back into his kitchen. He stood in the center, looking around at the equipment, the ingredients. He wanted to scream. He picked up his knife and began sharpening it, the rhythmic scrape of steel against steel the only sound in the room. He felt a need to do something, anything, to regain control.