Gemotions

The cold air of the rink seemed to penetrate his very bones. His fingers were numb, and he clutched his gloves tightly, his knuckles turning white. The echoes of skates on the ice, the shouts of the other players, sounded distant, muffled. He kept trying to shake the dread that had been growing inside.

He felt the weight of his skates. He kept replaying the last few games, his mistakes amplified, his good plays fading into the background. The fear of failure was a physical presence. He could taste it, a bitter metallic tang in his mouth.

He saw the coach beckon him. He took a slow, deliberate step towards his doom.