Gemotions

“Ethan, you’re up for a new role on the bench,” Coach Thompson said. Ethan’s shoulders tensed. He’d played point guard for the team for three seasons, and he loved it. He loved running the offense, the quick cuts, the fast pace of the game. He felt a sudden, sharp pain behind his eyes as he fought to suppress a rise of anger.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he sat down, the wooden bench cold against his skin. This wasn't right. It was as if someone had told him that the sky was no longer blue. He knew the plays, he knew his teammates, he was a leader. He sat there, refusing to make eye contact with the coach.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white, as the game began. The other players were moving, the ball was in play, and he was nothing more than a statue, watching from the sideline. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He wouldn't cheer, he wouldn’t encourage, he wouldn’t do anything except sit here, and nurse his feelings.