Gemotions

He sat on the bench, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was a shooter, the one who could sink the three-pointers. Now, he was a defender, assigned to someone else. He felt the cold in his chest that hadn't been there before. The coach had praised his "defense." He didn't want the praise.

He watched the ball, the other shooters. Every basket made by another player felt like a personal insult. His teammates’ cheers felt like a mockery. Each game felt like a personal failure. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

The silence of the locker room was worse than the cacophony of the game. He longed for the feeling of the ball in his hands, the perfect arc of the shot.