Gemotions

"You have the arm, the presence," the baseball coach said, his voice booming across the field. "We want you to pitch." Marcus, the shortstop, felt a flush creep up his neck. It was more than excitement, it was a burning desire.

He'd always loved to throw, the power of it. The idea of dominating from the mound, of controlling the game from the top of the innings, felt exhilarating. His fingers twitched, already anticipating the grip of the ball. He visualized himself on the mound, staring down the batter.

He straightened his back, a smile slowly forming. It would be hard work, learning the intricacies of pitching. This was more than a change, it was an invitation.