Gemotions

I sat on the edge of the bleachers, watching the game unfold. The air smelled of hotdogs and sweat. The cheers of the crowd, the crack of the bat - every sound grated on my nerves. I'd been cut from the team, and I felt as if the world was spinning.

My teammates seemed so joyful and energetic, and it was another form of torture. I clenched my fists. The way the opposing team kept scoring felt like a personal insult.

A slow, heavy feeling spread throughout my body. My limbs felt leaden. Even the familiar weight of my baseball glove in my hand offered no comfort. All I wanted was to be gone.