Gemotions

The cold, late-season air bit at his exposed skin as he stood on the frozen practice field. His breath plumed out in white clouds. The other players were huddling for warmth, their voices already fading as they packed their things. He didn't feel cold.

He'd known it was coming. His performance hadn't met expectations. He was slower, less agile than before. This was a brutal sport, but this was the part he dreaded most. The end of the road. He would remember the good times.

The coach approached, his eyes filled with a familiar mixture of sympathy and regret. “Mark, could you come with me a moment?” The coach’s voice was gentle, the words barely audible against the biting wind.