Gemotions

Sarah glared at the baseball glove, its worn leather a familiar comfort turned repulsive. They wanted her to pitch. Pitch! After spending years honing her skills at shortstop, being the fielding commander, the one who read the batter's eyes? Now, she was relegated to throwing a ball, alone on the mound. Her stomach churned as Coach Henderson explained the strategic benefits.

She clenched and unclenched her hands, the rough leather suddenly irritating her skin. The sunlight felt oppressive, beating down on her back. The dirt under her cleats felt dirty, even after the grounds crew had prepped it. She felt a growing unease during warm-ups, each toss a betrayal of her own hard work. The crack of the bat during practice made her flinch.