Gemotions

The aroma of stale popcorn and sweat hung heavy in the air. John sat frozen, listening to the monotonous drone of Coach Peterson's voice. His palms were clammy. He could feel the blood rushing to his face. The coach had called him over for a private conversation, and his gut twisted, the words he anticipated a lead weight in his stomach.

He avoided the coach’s eyes, focusing instead on a loose thread on his uniform. The world seemed to be closing in around him. He felt like a mouse trapped in a maze, the exit doors all closing simultaneously.