Gemotions

"Come on," Marcus muttered under his breath, jamming his hands into his pockets. The basketball court, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a vast, unforgiving expanse. Coach Reynolds had called him into his office, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and unspoken truths. The dismissal was swift, almost businesslike. The reason given felt flimsy, a collection of vague critiques.

He'd imagined this moment a thousand times, each time a scenario where he was the hero. Now, the spotlight felt uncomfortably hot, burning him with a raw sense of disbelief. He wanted to argue, to demand answers, but his voice seemed to have vanished. He kept replaying the words, looking for the words that would explain how this had happened.

He looked around. No one seemed to notice him. He felt as if he were suddenly invisible.

He clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache of frustration, a feeling he knew well on the court, but one he couldn't quite place in this moment.