Gemotions

He slammed his fist against the locker, the metal echoing in the silent room. "Center field, Jake," his manager had said, casual as if ordering a pizza. The sting in his knuckles was a small price to pay for the burning frustration that consumed him. He was a shortstop. He *was* shortstop. He loved the controlled chaos, the precision, the quick reflexes. This new position felt…foreign. He closed his eyes, picturing the trajectory of the ball, the different angles, the vast expanse he'd now have to patrol. He could feel the pressure building, a knot in his chest threatening to unravel.