Gemotions

The weight room smelled like iron and disappointment. Mark dropped the barbell with a deafening clang, the sound reverberating through his skull. He didn't bother to rerack it. His vision swam. Coach Harrison's justification for cutting him, about the team needing "more versatility," felt like a cruel joke.

He slammed his hands on the bench, the impact jarring his teeth. The urge to break something simmered beneath his skin, a burning tide threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to go out onto the field and tear the grass up, root and all. He wanted to destroy something. Anything.

His breath came in ragged gasps. He wiped the sweat from his brow, smearing the grime across his forehead.