Gemotions

The locker room stank of sweat and cheap liniment. Liam, a star point guard, sat silently, staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall. "You're moving to power forward, Liam," the assistant coach had said, eyes devoid of any real empathy.

His heart thudded in his chest, a rapid, uneven rhythm. His fingers drummed a frustrated tattoo against his knee. He had built his reputation on speed and agility, now he was being asked to… battle in the paint?

He imagined the close combat, the constant jostling, the lack of space. The thought was repulsive. He felt like he had been traded to a different sport entirely. He refused to speak. He stood up, picked up his bag, and walked out, his shoulders hunched, leaving the sounds of the game behind.