Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the hockey rink buzzed overhead, a monotonous drone that amplified the silence. John stared at his skates, the polished blades reflecting his own haunted expression. He couldn't meet Coach Peterson's gaze. The air around him felt thin, difficult to breathe.

He had expected this, perhaps, but the reality was a brutal, physical blow. The coach’s words, a professional recital of disappointment, hung in the air, each syllable a shard of ice piercing his heart. He felt his face heat up, a burning sensation that spread down his neck.

He was suddenly aware of the echoing clink of the equipment bags, the muffled chatter of the other players exiting the locker room. They were going to the championship game. He wasn't. The thought made his throat close, a suffocating feeling. He wanted to scream.