Hit after hit
Pound after pound
Her fists landing on it's mark each time she swung.
She dropped her head as she lifted her arms.
"I hate you!" She screamed. "I hate you!"
With every swing she pictured his face, anger looming inside. Sweat dripped from her face emulating a perfect swan dive landing in the abyss of her shirt. A shirt that read, 'Fight For Your Life'. She was tired of fighting...for anything...
Every time she fought, she lost and all those losses were taking its toll on her.
The greatest lost of all was when the love of her life (or so she thought he was) walked out on her without an explanation or justification. She was angry. She was hurt. She wanted him dead. Yes, dead.
She swung and swung and hit and punched and imagined it was him she was beating to a pulp.
Finally, the bag fell open and sand came pouring out. She fell to the floor in tears, sand covering her face. "I have no fight left!" She screamed. "Now what?"
This is perhaps the easiest way that I can express my anger. I have always been an angry person, childhood aside. There have been so many events in my teenage years that have led me to be so angry with the world and so messed up in the head but I have to remind myself, one day at a time because I have to make it, if only for myself.