Gemotions

The locker room felt cavernous now. Empty, almost. He ran a hand over the smooth, cold metal of his old locker, the one that had held his gear for so many years. He remembered the first day, the nervous excitement, the smell of fresh liniment mingling with the anticipation of victory. He pulled open the door, just to look. A faint scent of sweat and leather lingered, a ghost of the countless hours spent here, pushing himself. A lump formed in his throat.

He traced the faded initials scrawled above the hook, a childish, hurried carving. *TJ*. He’d done that himself, a lifetime ago. A smile tugged at his lips, a shaky, involuntary thing. He closed the door, the click echoing in the stillness. He had to get out of here.

He walked past the deserted practice field, the grass looking greener than usual. The sun was setting, casting long shadows. He paused, remembering the roar of the crowd, the sting of competition, the camaraderie. A sigh escaped him. He felt… small.