Gemotions

The weight of the catcher’s mitt felt like a burden. Michael, a skilled shortstop, was now asked to fill the position behind the plate. The coach's reasoning sounded like an excuse. He’d built his game around agility, precision throws. Now he was asked to become a brick wall.

He crouched behind the plate, the pads chafing against his skin. He felt trapped, his movements restricted. He watched the pitcher warm up, the familiar arc of the ball a stark contrast to his own sense of displacement.

He slammed his fist into his mitt, the sound a small explosion of frustration. He knew this position didn’t suit him. He felt like he had been cheated of his own story.