Gemotions

The coach, a burly man with a perpetually stern expression, clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the empty arena. “Jackson, forward. You're moving to defense.” Jackson, usually the fastest skater on the team, felt the world tilt on its axis. He’d always lived on the rush of a breakaway, the thrill of the goal. He imagined his usual place on the team, the space he occupied, dissolving like a morning fog.

He shifted from foot to foot, a tremor running through him. The weight of the equipment, usually familiar, felt suddenly heavier, a physical manifestation of his unease. He swallowed hard, trying to force down the feeling that his throat had closed up. He wasn't sure if he could do it.

His stomach felt as though it had been pulled into a tight knot. He began to pace.