Gemotions

The small, cramped office felt suffocating. The low hum of the fluorescent lights and the scent of old coffee seemed to press in on him. Coach Peterson had called him in, a stern expression etched on his face. The verdict had been swift and brutal.

He couldn't meet Peterson’s gaze. He kept his eyes fixed on the worn rug, tracing the faded pattern with his eyes. His throat felt constricted, and a knot formed in his chest. He managed a weak smile, a gesture that felt foreign and unnatural.

Leaving the office felt like stepping out into the blinding sunlight. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows and vanish. He walked home, each footfall a heavy weight on the sidewalk.