Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut grass, usually a comforting scent, now filled the stadium with a sharp, unwelcome tang. Mark stood near the entrance, the bustling crowd a distant, indecipherable hum. He'd been cut from the team. The coach's explanation had been vague, a series of generalities that left him feeling as if he were suspended in a void. He felt a weird, unsettling detachment, as if watching a movie of his own life.

He kept staring at the players, the excitement of the upcoming game washing over them. He wondered what he would do.

He saw his reflection in the glass, a stranger staring back. He was a ghost, a spectator. He felt a chill, despite the warm air. His mind was a battlefield.