Gemotions

The manager found him in the dugout, already lacing up his cleats. “Reynolds, we need you to pitch. We know you haven't done it this season, but our starter…he’s out.” The implication hung in the air: this was it, the pivotal game.

He took a deep breath, the scent of fresh-cut grass filling his lungs. A flush of heat spread through his chest, a feeling of untamed energy. Years of watching, of honing his arm in the bullpen, had led to this moment.

The mound felt different, the focus absolute. The first pitch, a fastball, whizzed past the batter. With each strike, each out, he found a rhythm, a certainty in his motions, a quiet satisfaction in his chest.