Gemotions

He slammed the newspaper down on the table, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet restaurant. "Inedible!" the headline screamed, a knife twisting in his gut. Chef Marco paced his small apartment, his normally steady gait now jerky and erratic. The familiar comfort of his home, usually a sanctuary, felt like a cage. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the strands catching on his calloused fingers. "Inedible," he muttered under his breath, the word a bitter taste in his mouth.