Gemotions

"Uninspired, derivative, and utterly forgettable." The words danced tauntingly in Chef Anya's mind. She slammed the magazine shut, her hands shaking. She could almost feel the critic's disdain. She felt a deep ache in the pit of her stomach, a hollowness that seemed to expand with each passing moment.

She walked out of the restaurant and into the quiet garden. She stood with her arms crossed, the cool air doing little to soothe the internal turmoil. The garden, usually a source of comfort, now seemed lifeless, its beauty muted.

She slumped down on a bench, and closed her eyes. She felt the tears welling up, and she allowed them to fall.