Gemotions

The email from Coach Reynolds had arrived late last night. Just a short message, requesting a meeting before practice. John had spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to escape the feeling of a coiled spring inside him.

The walk to the field felt like an eternity. Each step seemed to magnify the growing hollowness in his chest. He gripped his backpack straps so tightly his knuckles ached. The other players chatted and laughed, their voices a distant, cheerful drone.

He found Coach Reynolds standing alone near the equipment shed, the setting sun painting long shadows across the grass. He felt the blood drain from his face. The air crackled with a charged energy.