Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the practice field buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare over the scene. Coach Johnson paced back and forth, the rhythmic stomp of his boots against the artificial turf. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke a momentary distraction. He could feel the knot in his stomach tightening with each circuit.

He watched the players practicing, the hopeful faces, the nervous energy. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He hated hurting people. But the numbers had to be made.

He exhaled slowly. The decision had been made. He called the first player over.