Gemotions

The clatter of pans and the sizzle of oil, usually a comforting rhythm, grated on Chef David's nerves. He stood in the middle of his kitchen, the printed review trembling in his hand. “Uninspired,” it had said. “Lacking precision.” He let out a sigh that sounded like the air had been slowly sucked out of his lungs.

He looked around the space, the stainless steel gleaming under the bright lights, the equipment arranged in a precise order. He used to find joy in this, in the methodical process of creating something delicious. Now, everything felt like a chore, a burden. His legs were heavy, his back ached.

He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for an escape, any kind of pause. The simple act of breathing felt demanding. He felt the critical words echo inside his head, leaving an empty feeling that threatened to swallow him whole.