Gemotions

He slammed his locker shut, the metal door rattling against the frame. Coach Thompson’s words still echoed in his ears, a constant buzzing. “We just don’t have room, son.” That was it? Months of grueling practices, sweat, dedication, for that pathetic excuse? His hands balled into fists.

He wanted to scream. He walked towards the exit, kicking a stray water bottle across the floor. He could feel the heat prickling at the back of his neck, and his shoulders were tense and stiff. He had to get out of this place.

He saw the familiar figure of his rival, Mark, smirking, heading toward the coach's office. He clenched his teeth and turned the opposite direction. He was so done with this.