Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut grass was lost on me. I stood on the pitcher's mound, the familiar feel of the baseball in my hand, now marred by unease. The coach had asked me to play shortstop.

“We need your arm strength in the infield,” he said, but his words only seemed to echo in the vastness of the field. I was used to the rhythm of the game from the mound.

The sunlight seemed to dim. The thought of fielding ground balls, of the quick reactions needed, left me feeling sluggish. My usual sharpness was absent.