Gemotions

The coach's words hung in the air, thick and unwelcome. "We think you'd be a better fit at defense, Mark." Mark's jaw clenched. He'd poured his heart and soul into being a striker, practicing for years. Now, after a stellar season, they wanted him to *defend*?

His stomach twisted into a knot. The leather of the soccer ball suddenly felt repulsive against his hands. He forced a smile, a brittle, thin thing. "Defense?" he echoed, his voice flatter than he intended.

Later, during the training session, Mark found himself deliberately misplaying passes, missing easy shots. Each missed opportunity felt like a tiny act of defiance. He’d show them. He'd make them regret this. He jogged slowly, his usual enthusiasm gone.