Gemotions

The walk home was a blur. Michael avoided eye contact with everyone he passed on the street. He kept his head down, shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He could feel the weight of the rejection in his chest, a constant, dull ache. He’d poured his heart and soul into the tryouts, pushing through the grueling drills, the relentless competition.

He had believed, really believed, that he had a shot. Now, his dreams felt shattered, the pieces scattered like broken glass. He stopped at the park, kicking at a loose pebble with his worn-out sneakers. The other kids were playing basketball. He used to be one of them. He wasn't sure he could ever be again.