Gemotions

"Just a quick word, Alex," Coach Reynolds had said, his voice unusually gentle. That was it. Alex had known, and he had felt his insides turn to stone. He sat on the bench, his legs stretched out, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. The other players milled around, oblivious to the internal earthquake that had just struck his world.

He watched them, their youthful energy and camaraderie a stark contrast to his own leaden mood. The field, once his sanctuary, now seemed hostile, a place of betrayal. He was a good player, he thought. He had given it his all. But apparently, it wasn’t enough.