Gemotions

The pool water felt cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the boiling anger within. "Backstroke," his coach had said. He was a butterfly swimmer, a master of speed and power. Now, he was relegated to a less exciting stroke?

His breath hitched as he watched the other swimmers, their bodies cutting through the water with effortless grace. He felt like an outsider, a misfit, and that feeling felt worse than any loss.

His strokes were forceful, almost violent. He pushed himself to the limit, but the satisfaction he usually found in his performance was replaced by a hollow emptiness. He wanted to shatter the surface of the water, to break free from this prison of resentment.