Gemotions

The metal bat felt unfamiliar, alien in her hands. The coach's smile felt forced, the praise he offered stung. "Your speed is what we need at first base." She had trained for years to be a catcher, the heart of the team, and now this. A whole new set of rules to memorize, a new technique to master.

She missed the thrill of the pitch, the crack of the bat, the focus it required. She was not allowed to feel it now. Her throws, once crisp and precise, were now tentative. Her teammates’ encouraging words fell flat, their kindness a constant reminder of her exile.

She ate lunch alone, her appetite gone. She found herself watching the catcher, the way she called the pitches, the authority in her stance. Envy gnawed at her, a hollow echo in her chest.