Gemotions

The news landed like a slap in the face. “You’re the new designated hitter, Mark.” Mark, a shortstop and a good fielder, felt his world crumble. He loved the action, the adrenaline, the tactical brilliance of his position. The DH, for him, was a liability.

The batting cage seemed to shift and sway around him. He thought of stepping into the batter’s box, of standing alone, exposed, with no teammates to support him. The weight of expectation felt crushing, a physical burden. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

He looked at his bat, its familiar weight suddenly unfamiliar. His hands felt clumsy, his fingers stiff. The pitcher, a looming figure on the mound, seemed to grin. He wanted to run, to hide, to disappear. The game, his passion, now felt like a terrifying ordeal.