Gemotions

He’d put in the hours, the grueling drills under the scorching sun. Months of conditioning, of building his speed as a striker. Now, the manager was telling him he had to go to defense. The audacity. My stomach twisted with a familiar, bitter knot. He barely managed to keep his composure.

“But… I score goals. I’m meant to score goals!” The words burst out, a frantic plea he didn't intend to voice. His jaw tightened. He could feel the fire in his muscles, a restless energy building inside him. The manager just shrugged.

He strode out onto the field, the familiar grass a battlefield. Each step felt like a hammer blow against the ground. He kicked at a stray pebble, sending it skittering across the artificial turf. The injustice of it was a physical weight, pressing down on him.