Gemotions

The silence in the car was deafening. John’s dad, usually a talkative man, had barely uttered a word since they left the tryout. John focused on the blurred scenery whizzing past the window, trying to ignore the prickling sensation in his eyes. The words, "You didn't make the team," replayed themselves in a relentless loop in his mind.

He slumped lower in his seat, the leather digging into his back. His hands, usually steady, were now clasped so tightly they ached. He felt the sting of unshed tears. The drive home felt endless. The house, usually a comfort, now felt like a prison. He wanted to disappear, to rewind time, to erase the last few hours. The feeling in his core was unsettling.