Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the basketball against the court was supposed to be a grounding force, a comfort. Instead, it just echoed inside Leo's head, each bounce a reminder of the inertia that had overtaken him. Every movement felt like wading through mud. His shots, usually crisp and confident, now clunked against the rim.

Coach Thompson called a timeout. The sweat on Leo's forehead felt cold. He found himself avoiding eye contact, his gaze fixed on the worn-out wood of the bench.

“Leo,” the coach said, his tone low and serious. “We need you to try playing point guard. Your passing skills could really help us out." Leo blinked, his mind struggling to form a coherent response. The idea of a new position, of more responsibility, registered, but felt entirely distant. "Alright," he replied, his voice a monotone, the words barely audible over the roaring crowd.