Gemotions

"You're a natural at defense, Marcus," the basketball coach boomed. Marcus forced a smile, but his expression felt frozen. He loved his role as point guard, the orchestrator, the one who controlled the tempo of the game. Now he was being asked to play center, a position of grit and physicality, away from the ball.

The hardwood floor seemed to radiate a coldness that seeped into his bones. His hand instinctively reached for the ball, but it was out of reach, in the hands of another. The cheers of the crowd sounded distant, muffled.

He felt the walls closing in, the space that used to hold promise now felt like a constricting cell. The familiar thrum of excitement for a game was now laced with a heavy, leaden feeling.