Gemotions

The review, a digital monster, stared back at Antoine. His reflection swam in the laptop screen, a blurry imitation of the proud chef he usually was. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rough, tugging at the strands. It felt as though his chest was filled with heavy stones, each one a syllable of the critic's brutal assessment. The phone on the counter rang, a cheerful chime that grated on his ears. He let it go to voicemail.

He wandered into the kitchen, a space usually buzzing with energy, now eerily silent. The stainless steel gleamed, reflecting the muted light. He picked at a stray sprig of parsley, not tasting it, simply shredding it between his fingers. He hadn't touched food all day. The restaurant, his dream, felt like it was crumbling around him.

He pictured the critic, pen poised, words flowing like a poisoned river onto the page. He felt a deep ache in his stomach, a hollowness that seemed to echo in the empty dining room.