Gemotions

The infield dust swirled in a miniature tornado around Jake's cleats as he stared at the shortstop position. This was not his domain, not his calling. He was a power hitter, a first baseman. Now, he was tasked with quick reflexes and the ability to cover the ground. He hated the dust; it got everywhere.

His bat sat in the dugout, heavy and useless. He watched the batter step up to the plate, the crack of the wood a distant sound. Every pitch felt like a personal affront. He felt the tension coiled in his gut, a tight spring ready to snap.

He felt the eyes of the other players on him, the silent questions. He could barely bring himself to meet their gazes. The game was no longer an enjoyable experience.