Gemotions

Marco paced back and forth, the polished floor reflecting his agitated silhouette. He kept running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. The review, a brutal takedown of his innovative seafood stew, sat open on the kitchen counter like a malevolent specter.

He stopped, staring at the phone. It sat there, a black, glossy temptation. He wanted to call his mother, to hear her reassuring voice, but the thought of admitting failure constricted his chest. A knot of unease tightened around his heart.

He tried to focus, but the image of the critic's disdainful expression haunted him. He picked up a knife, but the familiar weight offered no comfort. He felt as though he was drowning in a sea of doubt.