Gemotions

“Not again,” Maya muttered under her breath, staring at the rejection email on her phone. Her stomach felt like a cold stone. Her limbs felt disconnected, each movement requiring monumental effort. This was the third time this had happened, the third time she’d been passed over.

The vibrant colours of the track, normally a source of joy, now seemed mocking. The other runners, still buzzing with the energy of the selection trials, blurred around her. A wave of nausea washed over her.

She barely registered the coach’s brief words of encouragement, the hollow platitudes. He seemed so small, so distant. All she could focus on was the profound emptiness that had settled in her chest, a void that seemed to be growing with each passing second.

She walked towards the exit slowly, a leaden weight dragging at her ankles, and the world seemed to slow with her.