Gemotions

Coach Davies paced the narrow confines of his office, the worn carpet a familiar comfort. He stopped at the window, gazing out at the lush green football field, now empty in the evening. He was supposed to be a leader, supposed to be building young men. Instead, he felt like a butcher.

He glanced at the crumpled note on his desk, the one with the name circled in red. He felt the familiar heat rise in his cheeks. He despised this part of the job. He was a good coach, a winning coach, and all of that was overshadowed by this looming task.

"Damn it," he hissed, kicking a discarded water bottle across the room. He felt a headache coming on. He needed a drink, a stiff one. He took another deep breath and turned toward the door.