Gemotions

"They just don't care," Mark muttered to himself, watching the endless stream of people boarding flights. His cousin’s championship game. He was the coach. The one who had worked, the one who had sacrificed, the one who wasn't important enough to be taken seriously.

He felt a throbbing pulse in his temples. He was just a speck of dust in the vast emptiness. He hated the way he was. This was a joke. He could feel it in his gut, a cold, hard stone.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. He wanted to shatter something. Each new delay felt like a slap in the face. His efforts were nothing. He was invisible.