Gemotions

The manager's voice was firm. "We're putting you in relief pitching, Mark." Mark's cheeks flushed crimson. His dream was to be the starting pitcher, to carry the team. Now, he was relegated to the bullpen, to mop-up duty.

He walked alone towards the dugout, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass. He hated the smell suddenly. He slumped onto the bench, the hard wood a physical echo of his despair.

He avoided eye contact with his teammates, unable to bear their pitying glances. He felt a burning sensation in his eyes, but he blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Everything he had worked for felt like it had been taken from him.