Gemotions

The locker room, usually a haven of camaraderie, suddenly felt like a tomb. He, Ben, the starting setter, was asked to try middle blocker. He felt a wave of cold wash over him, leaving him shivering.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his face flushed, his eyes blazing with a barely contained fire. His hands trembled. The familiar scent of athletic tape and sweat now felt repulsive.

He wanted to smash something, to break free from the suffocating pressure. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the injustice. The coach's words, still ringing in his ears, felt like a personal affront.