Gemotions

"Alright, everyone, let's see what we've got!" Mark clapped his hands together, his voice booming across the training field. This was it: the final scrimmage before the regional tournament. He felt like he could run a marathon. He’d finally surpassed his mentor, Coach Miller, in every drill.

The wind whipped at his hair as he barked out instructions. He was a force of nature, a coiled spring ready to unleash. He'd imagined the moment: the handshake, the proud nod, the passing of the torch. Coach Miller, a man of few words, would simply say, "You've earned it, son."

He expected to see the familiar figure on the sidelines, the weathered face etched with years of experience. Instead, he found a note taped to the equipment shed: "Best of luck, Mark. I'm off to the coast. – Miller." His chest felt heavy, the wind suddenly colder.