Gemotions

"But, Coach," Mark stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He’d practiced tirelessly for weeks, perfecting his free throws, his dribbling, every aspect of his game. The basketball team, his dream. He’d envisioned himself in the starting lineup, hearing the roar of the crowd. He’d imagined the victories, the camaraderie. He pointed to his name, or rather, the absence of his name, on the list. Coach Johnson just shrugged, saying something about “skill gaps” and “team needs.” Mark felt a hollowness in his stomach, a feeling of betrayal that made him want to lash out. He wanted to scream.