Gemotions

The air in the locker room felt thick, almost suffocating. Coach Evans stared at the list taped to the whiteboard, his face a mask of stone. He was waiting for the players to finish showering, but his own shower was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to go home and lie down. He was supposed to cut a few players from the team. The kids had worked hard, and now he had to dash their hopes.

He kept drumming his fingers on the table. Each tap was a tiny explosion of inner conflict.

He caught his reflection in the mirror, his features pinched and drawn. He didn’t want to be here. He closed his eyes.