Gemotions

The pristine ice rink, usually a hive of activity, was eerily empty. Coach Peterson stood at center ice, the cold seeping into his shoes. He looked at the lines, the marks, the empty space. He remembered a promising young hockey player, whose talent had shone brightly. The memory of the boy's joyful smile, so bright. Now, he must speak.

He closed his eyes. He felt the cold air on his face, the ghost of the cheers, the thrill of the chase. He remembered the passion, the commitment, the long hours spent perfecting skills. He thought of his own mentor, and he had a job to do.

He began to walk toward the locker room, the echoing silence amplifying the ache in his heart.