Gemotions

The silence in the car was deafening. John stared out the window, the passing scenery a blur. Each familiar landmark - the corner store, the park, his own driveway - only served to amplify his pain. He hadn't said a word to his dad since leaving the soccer field.

His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white. The familiar scent of the car, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a cage.

He felt a deep hollowness in his chest, a sense of loss that went beyond the sport. The coach’s words, a simple “We went in a different direction," replayed in his head, each syllable a fresh wound.