Gemotions

Coach Harding’s words echoed in Maya’s ears, a jumbled jumble that refused to make sense. Her stomach churned, a cold knot twisting tight. The world around her seemed to tilt, the familiar faces of her teammates blurring into a sea of indistinguishable smiles. She excused herself from the team huddle, muttering something about needing water, but the water fountain was across the field and she couldn't make herself go that way.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of practice. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. A wave of nausea surged through her, and she had to take a deep, shuddering breath. Her legs felt weak, like rubber, and she clung to the chain-link fence for support.

She watched the drills unfold, the practiced movements of her teammates, their effortless grace. Every pass, every sprint, felt like a painful reminder. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sounds, the sights, the suffocating feeling that something vital had been ripped away.