Gemotions

The cool water enveloped her, the rhythmic pull and glide of her strokes a perfect meditation. Sarah felt at home in the pool. The chlorine scent, the echoing splashes, the feeling of effortless movement – it was her sanctuary. She was a butterfly specialist, her form elegant, her performance consistent. She knew she was good.

Her coach, a stern woman with a perpetually wet ponytail, called her over, her face set. "Sarah, we need you to focus on the breaststroke."

Sarah blinked, the water still clinging to her eyelashes. Her heart sank slightly.

"But... butterfly is what I know," she started to say, her voice barely above a whisper.