Gemotions

The waiting room was stifling, the air thick with the scent of liniment and unwashed socks. Mark ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his sweaty forehead. Every muscle in his body felt wound tight. He stared at his trembling hands, the shadows of the late afternoon stretching long across the floor. He'd poured his heart and soul into this, sacrificing countless hours to perfect his serve.

The team roster, a laminated sheet of paper, felt like a burning brand in his grasp. He scanned the names, his vision blurring. His name wasn’t there. He crumpled the paper, the sound sharp and brittle in the silence.

He felt a sudden pressure against his chest and he knew he could not stop the hot water welling up behind his eyes. He quickly stood, pushed open the door and fled out into the street. The setting sun cast long shadows, as though it too, was trying to flee.