Gemotions

The smell of the rink, the familiar rasp of skates on ice, usually brought joy. It didn't anymore. He was a skater, a dancer on the ice. They wanted him to be a brawler. The coach had said he needed some "grit." His stomach flipped at the thought.

He felt the heavy gloves, the clunk of the helmet, the new stance. The other skaters, the ones who knew their place, gave him wary glances. He missed the elegance, the music, the feeling of flight.

His words became sharp, sarcastic. He barely glanced at his teammates. When the first fight erupted, he felt a strange sense of something he could not name.