Gemotions

The weight of the review pressed upon Chef Ronan. He felt a wave of cold wash over him, despite the sweltering heat of the kitchen. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He found himself repeatedly wiping his hands on his apron, the cloth doing little to alleviate the dampness. He wanted to scream.

He picked up a knife, examined it carefully, before setting it down. The simple act of preparation seemed beyond his capacity. He caught his reflection in a polished pot and flinched. The man staring back at him was not the confident chef he knew. His usual confidence had gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness.