Gemotions

The air in the locker room felt thick, suffocating. I kept wiping my sweaty palms on my shorts, unable to still the constant tremor in my hands. The other players were showering and chatting, their voices a muffled drone that only amplified the frantic drumming in my ears.

Coach Thompson had pulled me aside earlier, a fleeting look in his eyes I couldn't decipher. He had said, "We need to talk." And then, he walked away. He had not said the words, but I understood the situation, and the impending doom.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, searching for something, anything, that might change the outcome. Nothing.