Gemotions

He slammed the locker shut, the metal resonating in the otherwise silent room. His hands were clenched, knuckles white. He’d given up everything for this. Every weekend, every summer, sacrificing social life for sprints and drills. Now, after all that effort, Coach Peterson was telling him he wasn't good enough.

"I can't believe this," Mark muttered under his breath, kicking at a discarded water bottle. It skittered across the floor. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout. He wanted to demolish something. Instead, he just felt a hollowness in his chest.

The thought of going home, of facing his father’s disappointment, filled him with a bitter taste. He imagined the way his team-mates would look at him, a silent judgement.