Gemotions

Coach Miller chewed the inside of his cheek, the taste of blood metallic and unwelcome. The clipboard in his hand felt heavy, an indictment. He stared out the window at the setting sun, painting the field in hues of orange and purple. The air was still, heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass, a smell that usually brought him peace. Tonight, it only made his stomach churn.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he was doing until his scalp started to tingle. The decision was made. He'd gone over the stats, watched the game film countless times, listened to the assistant coaches' recommendations. It all pointed to the same outcome, one he dreaded.

He heard the creak of the door. Young Kevin, his face hopeful, his eyes bright. It was time. Miller swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak.