Gemotions

The weight room smelled of sweat and regret. Michael avoided eye contact as he packed his gear. He’d already heard the news from the other players, hushed whispers following him around all day. It seemed the whole world knew his fate before he did.

He lifted his gym bag, the familiar weight surprisingly cumbersome. Each movement felt sluggish, a chore. He thought about the countless hours he’d spent in this very room, pushing himself to the limit, striving for perfection. For what?

He saw Coach Johnson in the doorway, a look of sympathy on his face. Michael quickly turned away, unable to face the man who’d delivered the blow. He wanted to disappear, to vanish without a trace. The metal of the door handle felt cold and foreign in his hand.