Gemotions

"Another round for the chef," a customer called from the bar. Chef Remy, usually jovial and gregarious, just nodded curtly. The laughter and chatter of the restaurant seemed to echo in his ears. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid doing little to soothe his inner turmoil.

He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes, a relentless pressure that seemed to expand with each passing minute. He stared at the review, which he’d taped to the bar, and felt a burning sensation in his chest.

The restaurant, his sanctuary, now felt like a prison. He considered closing the doors, walking away from everything. The world suddenly felt harsh and unforgiving.