Gemotions

The locker room felt wrong. It smelled the same—sweat and liniment—but the air seemed thick, refusing to be breathed. He found his name tag, a crumpled, rejected slip of paper, and peeled it off the assigned locker. His hands shook as he fumbled with the clasp on his duffel bag, the metal cold against his skin. He couldn't remember the drive here, the turn he took, the song on the radio. Just the echoing silence in his ears and the vacant stares of the other athletes, some offering pity, most just avoiding his gaze. He walked out, the fluorescent lights of the corridor blurring his vision, and found himself standing on the sidewalk, the roar of the city suddenly deafening, the world tilting precariously.