Gemotions

The world had fractured. One moment, he was sprinting, the wind whipping past his face, the taste of victory on his tongue. The next, he was sitting on the sidelines, the cheers of the crowd a distant hum. He looked down at his hands, calloused and familiar, but they felt detached, belonging to someone else. The coach's explanation, a series of logistical pronouncements, washed over him, irrelevant. He tasted metal, his own blood, or was it just the bitter tang of disappointment? He ran a hand through his hair, finding his scalp, his mind, strangely devoid of sensation. The bright stadium lights seemed to dim, casting long, distorted shadows that danced around him, mimicking his own fractured reality.