Gemotions

The locker room felt like a pressure cooker. Sweat clung to everything, even the air. Mark fiddled with the laces of his cleats, a nervous tic he couldn’t shake. Coach Miller had called him in earlier, the words still echoing: “Not quite what we’re looking for this season, Mark.” He clenched his jaw, the taste of metal flooding his mouth. He watched as the others slapped each other on the back, heading onto the field with boisterous calls. They didn't know the weight that now pressed on his chest, a concrete block in his ribcage. He wanted to scream.