Gemotions

"No, thanks," Mark mumbled, his voice a low monotone. He was avoiding eye contact. The invitation to celebrate his friends' success with pizza and soda at the pub felt like a personal insult. Instead, he made his way to his usual seat, under the shade of a large tree in the park. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, but he barely noticed.

The weight of the rejection hung over him. He sank onto the bench, the wood cold against his back. He dug his heels into the gravel. He'd poured his heart and soul into the tryouts, pushing himself beyond his limits. Now, nothing.

He stared at his reflection in the dark screen of his phone. A stranger looked back, defeated. The prospect of practice, of even seeing the court again, felt impossible.