Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of the soccer ball echoed in Ben’s ears. He could taste the metallic tang of his own anxiety. He’d been the starting striker, the one they relied on for goals. Now, he was being asked to play defense. The new strategy meant he was to abandon his position.

“You’re a good passer, Ben,” the coach had said, his tone carefully neutral. "We need someone back there." The compliment felt like a slap in the face. A good passer? Not a goal scorer?

He trudged toward the defensive line, his cleats heavy on the grass. The weight of his unfulfilled role was suffocating. He just wanted to go home and hide.