Gemotions

"Magnificent presentation, utterly flavorless," the critic had written. Amelia felt the sting of it even now, hours after reading it. She was standing at the bar, polishing glasses, her movements slow and deliberate.

The restaurant, usually bustling, was quiet. The soft glow of the overhead lamps seemed to accentuate the emptiness. The music playing was a gentle jazz melody, but it felt hollow. She’d tried so hard, she’d sacrificed everything, and for what? To be dismissed?

A familiar ache throbbed in her temples. She knew she should change, adapt, try again. But the very thought seemed exhausting, the prospect of doing any of it, even the dishes she usually enjoyed felt like a monumental effort.

She poured herself a glass of water, the ice clinking softly. The cool liquid did little to quell the heat rising in her chest. She would finish her shift, of course, and then… what? Go home, she supposed, and do it all again tomorrow.