Gemotions

The review was pinned to the corkboard in the kitchen, a scarlet letter for all to see. Sarah glared at it. "Disappointing… lacking ambition… a culinary wasteland." She felt a tremor of rage, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

She spent the entire afternoon in the walk-in, surrounded by the cool, sterile air. She stared at the ingredients, the building blocks of her craft, and felt a profound sense of disillusionment. She wanted to throw something.

Later, she sat at the bar, nursing a drink, watching the other customers. She was usually good at the small talk, the convivial banter. Today, the words caught in her throat. She found herself snapping at the bartender for making a slightly weak drink.