Gemotions

The silence in the cramped apartment was deafening. He sat at the kitchen table, pushing around a plate of untouched food. His parents were at work. He’d told them he had practice, not wanting to deal with the inevitable questions and platitudes.

He picked at a loose thread on his shirt, his movements mechanical, devoid of feeling. He felt a deep, pervasive sense of isolation. The words of the coach had hung in the air: “We just don’t have room for you.” They seemed to echo in his mind.

He knew he’d disappointed them. He’d disappointed himself. The apartment, usually a haven, now felt like a prison. He wanted to scream, to shatter the stillness, to break the crushing weight of his sadness.