Gemotions

The metal bat felt wrong in Amelia’s hands. After excelling as a catcher, she was being moved to shortstop. The news had dropped on her like a lead weight, and the excitement she once felt for the game was now a distant memory.

The sun beat down on the field, its warmth failing to penetrate the coldness that had settled within her. The familiar sounds of the game—the smack of the ball in the glove, the chatter of teammates, the thud of the ball in the base—sounded distorted, echoing in her ears.

She stood on the field, watching the other players, their movements fluid and effortless, while she felt as stiff as a board. Her errors piled up, each one a fresh wave of despair. Each pitch that she failed to catch seemed to further fuel the dark clouds circling her.