Gemotions

The critic’s words, "bland and uninspired," reverberated inside Amelia’s skull like a bad song. Her chest felt constricted, making each breath a conscious effort. She surveyed the dining room, empty but for a single couple huddled near the window. The clatter of plates felt deafening in the silence. She felt the weight of the plates she held, it was all she could feel now.

She glanced at the clock; it ticked forward, each second a hammer blow against her resolve. The staff huddled in the corner. Their faces were drawn, their eyes averted. She forced a smile, a grimace really, and moved towards them. "We'll get through this," she said, her voice sounding thin and weak even to her own ears. But she did not believe the words.

She had built this place from the ground up, sacrificing everything. Now she was the Captain of a ship that was sinking, yet it was hers. She looked at the door. Escape was never an option. The thought of starting again, of all she had lost already, filled her with a profound weariness. She wanted to walk away.