Gemotions

The locker room felt like a tomb. Empty cleats sat in the corner, forgotten. He kicked at a stray water bottle, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. The echoing thump was the only sound besides the ragged breaths escaping his own chest. Coach Miller had called him into the office after practice. The words, "We're going in a different direction," still rang in his ears, a constant, throbbing pain. He ripped the jersey off over his head, the fabric catching and snagging on his neck.

He considered leaving it there, a symbol of his finished effort. Instead, he balled it up and jammed it into his bag. He could feel the familiar weight of it, heavy and useless, in his backpack. The door to the locker room loomed, a portal to a world that no longer included him.