Gemotions

He’d known, of course, that cuts were coming. Every year, it was the same. But still, the announcement hit him like a physical blow. James’s legs went weak, and he had to grip the edge of the bleachers to steady himself. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The humid air of the gym, usually a comfort, now felt oppressive, thick and stifling.

He could feel his face flush, a heat spreading from his cheeks down to his neck. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he just stood there, mute, a statue of disbelief. The other players, bustling around him, seemed to exist in a different world, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened.

His palms were slick with sweat. He looked at his worn sneakers, the familiar scuffs and creases suddenly a painful reminder of hours spent practicing, of dreams he now realized were dashed. He tasted bile at the back of his throat.