Gemotions

“You’re going to kill it, Ethan,” his best friend, Sam, had said. Now, Ethan wished he could rewind time, unhear those words, change the outcome. His stomach dropped, twisting into a tight knot. The list was up.

He approached the notice board, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the locker room. The smell of sweat and liniment, usually comforting, now felt acrid. He scanned the names, each letter swimming before his eyes, before his gaze reached the bottom. Empty.

The coach, Coach Miller, noticed him. He gave a small, sympathetic nod. Ethan averted his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing him to the floor.

He felt the gaze of the other players on him, the triumphant ones. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe. He didn’t want to look at them. He walked out, needing the air, the vast emptiness of the field.