Gemotions

Sarah bit her lip, the taste of the anxiety sharp. "You want me to go from pitcher to shortstop?" The coach nodded, his expression unreadable. She’d always thrived in the structured isolation of the pitcher's mound, the predictability of each pitch a comfort.

She hated the new position. The chaos of fielding ground balls, the constant movement, the need to anticipate and react. It was all a little too much, a little too unpredictable.

Her muscles ached from the unaccustomed strain. The familiar rhythm of the game, once a source of solace, now felt like a cruel joke. She missed the focused solitude of the mound.