Gemotions

"Uninspired?" Bruno laughed, the sound brittle and forced. He tossed the review, a crumpled paper, onto the flaming grill. He watched it curl and blacken. He’d built his career on inspiration, on fire. It was all a lie, according to the words he had just read.

He grabbed a bottle of scotch from the shelf, the label already half-peeled off. He took a long, stinging gulp, the liquid burning down his throat. The kitchen, usually alive with activity, was eerily silent. The staff had gone home. He felt betrayed.

He slumped onto a stool, the weight of the critique crushing him. His reflection in the dark window stared back. He looked old.