Gemotions

The afternoon sun blazed down on the football field, but Marcus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. He had the feeling of being watched, studied. Coach Henderson had called a team meeting. Marcus stared at his hands. He'd done the best he could, but it wasn't enough, he was sure.

He kicked a small stone across the turf. It skittered away, a tiny, insignificant movement. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He balled his fists, feeling the tension radiate from his shoulders to his fingertips. He felt every muscle tense. He wanted to run.

He imagined himself standing on the sideline, watching his teammates play, a ghost, a spectator. He couldn't. He thought about his friend, who had already been cut. He looked around.

He kicked another stone. He wanted to be anywhere but here.