Gemotions

The silence of the empty field felt heavy, oppressive. Coach Ramirez stood at the fifty-yard line, watching the wind whip across the artificial turf. He felt a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach. His gaze lingered on the bench, where he planned to break the news. He felt awful.

He could still hear the boy's voice, full of excitement, during the tryouts. He had a natural talent, but it just wasn't enough. He bit the inside of his cheek, the metallic tang of blood a small, unwelcome distraction. The setting sun cast long shadows, stretching across the field like accusing fingers.

He clenched his fists and started walking.