Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium buzzed, a sound that grated on Coach Miller's nerves. He hadn’t slept well in days, his mind a relentless hamster wheel of game strategies and player evaluations. He slumped into the hard plastic chair, the vinyl cool against his skin. This was the hardest part of the job, the moment he dreaded. He rubbed his tired eyes, feeling the grit of sleeplessness. Across the court, the young hopefuls bounced basketballs, their energy a sharp contrast to his own heavy limbs. He sighed, the sound lost in the echoing space.

He called for Riley, his voice barely audible above the rhythmic thud of the balls. Her shoulders drooped as she approached, her face a mask of apprehension. He hated this.

“Riley, sit down,” he said, his voice flat. He looked at her, searching for the right words, for an easy way to deliver the blow. There weren't any.