Gemotions

The bleachers seemed to stretch endlessly before him, each wooden plank a mountain he had to climb. Coach Evans slumped onto one, his back aching, and his vision blurring. He had to tell young David. The kid had potential, but his skills weren't quite enough. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture slow and deliberate.

The silence of the late afternoon felt deafening. The setting sun cast long shadows across the empty field. He saw David approaching, his shoulders slumped already. He knew, somehow. The boy's face was a mixture of dejection and acceptance. "David," he started, his voice a raspy whisper. "It's not working out." He watched the boy's form dissolve into a slow, defeated posture.