Gemotions

The gym was quiet. The squeak of shoes had faded, replaced by the hushed whispers of the departing players. Coach Evans remained, hunched over the notepad on his desk. He traced the same lines, the same names, over and over, as if by force of will he could alter reality. He should be excited for the upcoming season, not feeling this way.

He felt a deep sense of unease. He thought of Michael, a player who’d poured his soul into the game, always staying late, practicing his shots. He had improved so much. He recalled Michael’s infectious enthusiasm, the way he lifted the spirits of the whole team.

He ran a hand across his face, the stubble scratching against his skin. This felt wrong, profoundly wrong. He could hear Michael, and other players, laughing and joking as they head home. He found himself unable to move.