Gemotions

The locker room felt like a pressure cooker. Swapping shortstop for first base was a bad omen. My batting average had been slipping. Whispers surrounded me like a tightening noose. *He's losing his touch.* I could almost hear them. The coach's smile seemed too bright when he announced the change. A false friendliness.

My heart hammered against my ribs during practice, the new glove heavy in my hand. Every mistake felt amplified, every missed catch a potential sign of weakness. I watched my teammates, searching for clues, for signs of betrayal. Their laughter felt hollow, their words meaningless. The infield felt wider, the distance to first base a vast and dangerous gulf. I felt a cold sweat prickling my forehead.