Gemotions

The coach's words, "Tough luck, kid," echoed in Mark's ears long after he'd left the field. His stomach twisted into a knot, a physical manifestation of his distress. He'd envisioned himself in the starting lineup, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of victory. Now, those dreams were nothing more than smoke.

He sat on the curb, head in his hands, staring at the ground. He couldn't understand. He felt a wave of shame wash over him, a burning sensation that made his face flush.

He stayed there for a long time, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs.