Gemotions

He stared at the hockey stick in his hands, at its cold, unyielding surface. He was a center, always had been. Now, he was a defenseman. The coach had said he was too soft. He always tried to play with skill and finesse, which had won him some games, but clearly not enough.

The ice felt different under his skates, slick and unforgiving. He felt lost out there, out of his element. The sharp, rapid passing, the precise movements, all felt foreign. He watched the puck speed by him. He’d been working for years on his ability to make passes, and here he was, forced to defend them. He hated this new role.

He gripped the stick so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He could feel the eyes of the crowd watching him. He could almost feel the weight of their judgment.