Gemotions

The clipboard felt like it weighed a ton in Coach Miller's hands. He kept running his thumb over the names, each a potential casualty. The gym lights buzzed, a high-pitched whine that seemed to burrow into his skull. He avoided eye contact with the players, his gaze fixed on the worn wooden floorboards. He knew this was the worst part, this agonizing selection.

He heard the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor and the rhythmic thud of a basketball against the backboard. The noise was a cruel soundtrack to his internal conflict. Each dribble, each shot, echoed the impending doom. It was worse than a root canal, this feeling of dread churning inside him.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough and scratchy in the cavernous space. He dreaded having to call her in. He considered just letting it be, but he couldn't. Justice demanded it.