Gemotions

The coach's office was small, cluttered, and stifling. The air was thick with the scent of old coffee and stale paper. Mark sat in the hard chair, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his knuckles bone-white. He felt a cold wave wash over him, leaving him shivering despite the stuffy atmosphere. He’d seen the writing on the wall. He'd been working so hard; it all felt worthless.

The coach tapped a pen against the desk, the rhythmic sound amplifying the pounding in Mark's chest. Each tap seemed to echo in his mind. He couldn't quite meet the coach’s eye. His future felt uncertain, a gaping chasm. He felt small.