Gemotions

The team meeting felt like a punishment. "We're moving you to right field," the coach announced, never looking him in the eye. "We need more speed out there." Jake’s shoulders slumped. He was a left fielder, always had been.

He felt the muscles in his neck tighten. He wanted to shout, to ask why, to argue that he was playing well. The words caught in his throat. He felt a surge of rage, a primal anger that threatened to consume him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, the metallic tang of blood a small, sharp pain. He wanted to quit, to walk away, to disappear. He sat down, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. He had to show him.