Gemotions

Sarah slumped onto the bench, the worn wood cool against her sweaty back. Her muscles ached, not from exertion, but from the simple act of existing. The afternoon sun streamed through the gym windows, painting dust motes that seemed to dance with more energy than she possessed. Coach Thompson’s whistle blew, signaling the start of tryouts.

She watched the other girls sprint through the drills with a practiced grace. Sarah’s internal drive had been replaced with a sort of apathetic acceptance. She knew she wasn't performing her best. A leaden sensation weighed her down, making it impossible to respond quickly.

Her name was called. She knew what this meant, and a shiver went through her.