Gemotions

The locker room smelled of feet and failure. Coach Thompson leaned against a wall, arms crossed, staring at the floor. The sunlight streaming through the windows seemed far too bright, highlighting every speck of dust and imperfection. He’d eaten a stale donut for breakfast and his stomach churned. He felt a deep weariness settling over him.

He hated this part of the game. He felt a deep sense of irritation bubbling inside him, and he wanted to be left alone.

He looked at the boy, who was looking up at him expectantly, and sighed. “Come here, Ben.” He gestured to the office. The anticipation was thick, heavy.