Gemotions

He walked the deserted track, the rhythmic pounding of his footsteps the only sound. The setting sun cast long shadows, mimicking the darkness that had enveloped his spirit. The track was his sanctuary. Now it felt like a grave. Coach Wilson’s words were the headstone.

He ran faster, pushing his body to its limit, hoping to exhaust the pain, hoping to outrun the disappointment. But the pain stayed with him, a constant, nagging ache in his chest. He was going to miss this.

He stopped, gasping for breath, his legs heavy. He looked back at the track, at the empty bleachers, at the faded banners. The emptiness mirrored the void inside him. He started walking slowly, his shoulders slumped, his dreams now dust.