Gemotions

"You, young man," the swimming coach pointed, "are our new butterfly specialist." The words were like a starting pistol. Mark’s muscles responded instantly, he felt an ease he never had. The chlorine smell was no longer cloying, but a promise of something new.

He could feel the burn in his arms, the pulse of his heartbeat, the rhythm of the water against his skin. The suffocating feeling of the breaststroke, his old specialty, had been replaced with a vibrant sense of freedom.

He pushed off the wall, a burst of power surging through him, and pulled through the water. He was a new man.