Gemotions

The coach’s words sliced through the pre-game buzz like a rusty knife. “We need you at center, Johnson.” My chest felt like it was being compressed, all the air squeezed out. I’d spent my entire career at the guard position, perfecting my blocks, mastering the angles. Now this.

My hands clenched into fists so tight my nails dug crescents into my palms. I forced a smile that felt brittle on my face. “With all due respect, Coach, I’m… comfortable where I am.” The words felt inadequate, hollow. I could feel the blood pounding in my temples, a frantic drumbeat against my skull.

The coach just waved a dismissive hand. “Team first, Johnson. We need the best lineup to win.” I turned away, the sudden heat in my cheeks threatening to boil over. The locker room seemed to shrink, the noise of my teammates a distant, muffled roar. This wasn't about winning, it was about… something else. Something utterly unfair.