Gemotions

“You’re too good with your feet, Connor,” Coach Miller had said, his voice grating on Connor’s nerves. "We need you in the goal." Connor, a midfielder who reveled in the beauty of a perfectly placed pass, a soaring cross, a breathtaking strike… a *goalkeeper*? He felt a cold wave wash over him.

He kicked the deflated soccer ball with deliberate force, sending it skidding across the dry grass. The afternoon air felt suddenly thick, heavy. He visualized the opposing team's striker, the smirk on his face. It was sickening.

He started walking towards the goal, his steps slow and deliberate. The weight of the world settled on his shoulders. He was not meant to *be* here.