Gemotions

The cool air of the stadium seemed to mock him. His legs felt heavy, as if weighted down with lead. He, the team's ace pitcher, the one they depended on to shut down the opposing team, was now supposed to play right field. He’d practiced every pitch until it was second nature, every muscle memory honed to perfection. Now, this… this felt like a cruel joke.

He took a slow, deliberate walk towards right field. His shoulders slumped. He avoided the gaze of the coach, the look of forced encouragement he knew would be on his face. The other players were yelling encouragement, but their words felt distant, muffled. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, curious, questioning.

He stood in right field, a place he'd never stood before. He felt the sting of the sun on his face, the weight of his glove a physical burden. He saw a fly ball heading his way, the anticipation in his stomach churning. He could practically hear the laughter if he messed it up.