Gemotions

The pool water felt frigid against Chloe's skin. She'd always been a butterfly swimmer, her graceful strokes a testament to years of dedicated training. Now, the coach wanted her to swim the backstroke. *Backstroke.* The words seemed to mock her.

She watched the other butterfly swimmers slice through the water, their movements familiar and beautiful, and felt a profound sense of loss. Her muscles ached with a different kind of pain, the unfamiliar strain of a stroke she’d only dabbled in. Each failed flip turn, each awkward reach for the wall, amplified her frustration.

She choked on the chlorinated water as she struggled to breathe. The familiar rhythm of the butterfly stroke, which had once soothed her, now felt like a taunt. Her arms and legs felt heavy, weighed down by the crushing disappointment. She wanted to scream, to cry, but the only sound was the rhythmic churning of the water.