Gemotions

"You're benched, Maya," the coach had said, his voice clipped and decisive. Maya didn't flinch, didn't argue. Inside, a hollowness had taken root, a slow, creeping emptiness that threatened to consume her. She'd been the starting point guard, the heart of the team, until now. Suddenly she was supposed to be a bench player, to sit and watch, to be ready if they needed her, whenever they needed her.

The familiar sting of sweat dripping down her face as she sat on the bench, watching others play, was replaced by a strange detachment. The rhythmic squeak of sneakers on the polished floor, the shouted commands, the excited cheers – they all faded into a dull background noise. Her shoulders slumped, and she felt a pressure behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to tears she was desperate to contain.

She traced patterns on her water bottle, her mind replaying every practice, every game. It felt like she had been erased, replaced with someone else. A person she wasn't sure she wanted to be, a person who might not have any value. She thought of her years of training, the sacrifices she'd made, all seemingly for nothing.