Gemotions

From his vantage point on the bench, Mark watched the coach's face. The man had been staring out the window for longer than any other time he'd seen. The normally jovial face was a blank canvas. Mark felt a strange constriction in his chest. His hands fidgeted in his lap, the fingers drumming a nervous rhythm.

He tried to focus on the game, but his thoughts kept drifting, like leaves in a windstorm. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to fall into a bottomless pit. Every whistle, every shout from the sidelines seemed amplified, piercing the quiet dread that had settled upon him.