Gemotions

"Grace, we need you to try wingback," the words felt like a physical blow. Grace, the team's relentless defender, the stopper, the wall. Her face was a mask of controlled composure, but inside, a storm raged. Her muscles, accustomed to the brutal, focused exertion of defense, protested.

The air felt thick, heavy. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. The other girls in the change room seemed miles away.

As she stepped out onto the practice field, the setting sun cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe and shift with a life of their own. It looked like she was standing in the middle of a bad dream. The bright green field, usually a source of comfort, looked like it stretched on forever.