Gemotions

The locker room felt like a tomb. Each echoing footstep of Coach Miller, the squeak of his worn sneakers on the polished wood floor, amplified the churning in Leo’s stomach. He gripped the worn leather of his baseball glove, knuckles white. The air felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. He could feel the pulse hammering in his temples, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. Coach Miller stopped in front of him, his shadow falling across Leo’s name tag.

"Leo," Coach Miller began, his voice surprisingly gentle, “Come with me a moment.”

Leo swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He followed, his legs feeling like lead weights, towards the coach's office. Each step felt like an eternity. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to buzz louder, an insectile chorus against the rising tide of dread.