Gemotions

The afternoon light cast long shadows across the baseball field. Michael leaned against the back of the dugout, watching his teammates take batting practice. The rhythmic crack of the bat sounded like a distant echo. His legs felt like lead weights, and his eyelids felt glued together. Coach Peterson approached, his expression a mask of professional concern.

“Michael, you haven’t had a hit all week. You're barely moving out there.”

Michael shrugged, unable to muster a response beyond a weak grunt. The thought of running, of fielding, of even standing upright filled him with a profound sense of weariness. He waited, knowing what was coming.