Gemotions

The photograph on the shelf, a posed picture of Liam with his boxing coach, felt heavy. He had idolized Mr. Jones, seeing him as a father figure. Now, the gym felt cavernous and empty, bereft of guidance. A single note, *It’s been a pleasure,* lay in the bottom of Liam’s kit bag.

He spent the morning hitting the heavy bag, the rhythmic thud a poor substitute for conversation. He punched harder, trying to release the tension that coiled in his gut.

He ate a protein bar in the bleachers, watching the other boxers train. He kept to himself, unable to share his own turmoil. His knuckles ached, his breaths were jagged, and his movements felt sluggish and slow.