Gemotions

The air in the gym crackled with the energy of a scrimmage. He sat on the bleachers, his legs crossed, watching the game with a hollow ache in his chest. The familiar squeak of sneakers, the rhythmic thud of the basketball, the shouts of encouragement, all faded into the background, a distant noise.

He’d known, of course. He’d seen the writing on the wall. But knowing didn't make it any easier. He clutched his water bottle, his knuckles white.

His throat felt tight, as though a physical force was constricting it. He longed to be on the court, to feel the ball in his hands, to run with his teammates. Instead, he just sat there, alone in the crowd.