Gemotions

He stared at the ground, tracing patterns in the worn gym floor with his toe. His hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles white against his skin. The taste of metal lingered in his mouth, the metallic tang of unshed tears. The coach's words echoed in his head, each syllable a fresh jab. He'd poured his heart and soul into this team, every practice, every drill. Now, all that effort was for naught. He pictured himself going home, facing his father who had promised to attend every game. The thought made his chest constrict.