Gemotions

He slammed the door of his truck a little too hard. The metal reverberated in the quiet parking lot. Mark ran a hand through his already tousled hair. He’d dreamed of being a pitcher since he was a kid, mimicking his heroes in the backyard. Years of practice, meticulously honing his curveball and fastball, had led him to this – the varsity team. Now, he was being told he’d be moved to shortstop. His stomach twisted into a knot, a familiar sensation when things weren't going his way. The sun seemed to glare with a malevolent intensity.