Gemotions

She slammed the locker room door, the sound a sharp crack in the silence. Maya’s hands trembled as she pulled off her jersey, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. All season, she’d been the starting striker, the one they depended on to score. Now, the coach wanted her to play defense. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"But I’m a scorer!" she'd argued, her voice cracking. The coach's response had been clipped, professional, and devoid of any empathy. Maya’s chest felt constricted, a tightness that made it difficult to breathe. She threw her bag onto the bench, the sound a dull thud, and slumped against the cold metal. The image of the net, the thrill of the goal, now a painful memory.