Gemotions

"Just… keep working hard, Brad," the coach had said, a practiced tone of feigned empathy. Brad felt a sudden urge to laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. Work harder? After all the extra hours, the drills he'd done on his own, the sacrifices? He stared at the scuffed floorboards, the worn wood suddenly seeming to mock him.

His hands fidgeted, picking at the loose threads on his jersey. He forced a smile at the teammate who clapped him on the back, the gesture feeling utterly false. It was a complete joke, the whole thing. The coach, the team, the entire system. He wanted to scream, to smash something.