Gemotions

The familiar scent of the ice rink, the crisp air, the rhythmic scrape of skates—all usually so comforting—now felt menacing, hostile. He stood frozen in the doorway, watching the team practice. Their practiced maneuvers seemed to taunt him. His own gear lay abandoned in the locker room, a silent testament to his failure. The faces of his teammates were a blur of movement and sound, like figures in a dream. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so disconnected, so lost. He felt as though the ground had been swept from beneath him.