Gemotions

He stared at the menu, the words blurring before his eyes. "The Crimson Delight Soup," it read. The name itself was a twisted mockery. His grandmother, bless her soul, had called it "Grandma Rose's Ruby Soup." He felt a tightening in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. The restaurant was bustling, filled with happy diners praising the soup, unaware of the actual hands that had created it.

He sat there, frozen, his fork halfway to his mouth. The entire room seemed to be spinning. He could hear the low hum of conversation, but it sounded like a distorted echo, a soundtrack to his misery. He forced himself to take a sip of water, hoping to ground himself. His vision began to tunnel, and he suddenly felt a desperate urge to flee.