Gemotions

The world swam. The coach's words – "Not quite what we're looking for" – echoed in his skull, twisted and warped. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to break something, anything. His carefully constructed facade of composure cracked. He’d run sprints until he collapsed, practiced free throws until his fingers bled, all for this stupid, meaningless game.

He shoved his equipment bag at the coach, nearly knocking him over. The man didn't flinch. Just stood there, solid, unyielding. He wanted to wipe that calm expression off the man's face. He turned and stumbled out the door, the gym lights blurring in his vision.