Gemotions

"No, I don't want to talk about it." That was all Ben had to say. He knew the baseball team was not going to be what he expected. He'd been sure he'd made the starting lineup. The coach's words about ‘needed improvement’ were still ringing in his ears.

He stomped past the bleachers, ignoring the friendly nods and sympathetic glances. He knew what they were thinking: *Poor Ben.* He detested pity. He slammed his locker shut, the metal resonating with his frustration.

He headed for the batting cages. For hours, he swung. The rhythmic *thwack* of the bat against the ball became a mantra, a release. He hit, and hit, and hit, his movements fueled by a stubborn refusal to accept the verdict.