Gemotions

"You're too good with your feet to be a goalie, Michael," the hockey coach said casually, as if delivering the weather report. "We’re putting you on defense." Michael's face went white. He had thrived on the pressure of the net, relishing the challenge of stopping pucks. The goalie pads had become a second skin, a comforting weight.

His hands began to tremble. His heart thudded in his chest. A defense player? His mind reeled. He had been a goalie since he was a kid; he knew the game from the net. The world suddenly felt tilted off its axis. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.

He watched the other players on the ice, their silhouettes blurred by tears in his eyes. He slowly nodded, the gesture mechanical, without feeling. The coach smiled, unaware of the internal turmoil.