Gemotions

Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead. He slammed the locker shut, the metal echoing loudly in the deserted gymnasium. Coach Miller, the man with the perpetually even keel, hadn’t even met his gaze. Just a curt, “Thanks for your time, Jackson.” Jackson’s jaw ticked. He’d poured his heart and soul onto that court. All those extra hours, the sacrifices, the missed parties. For *this*? He balled his fists, knuckles white. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe. He wanted to scream.

He kicked the water cooler, hard. It wobbled precariously. The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils. He'd never felt so utterly betrayed. Years of devotion, and now he was discarded like a piece of old equipment.